Dare You to Dream
by achillies-eel
Summary: A story in which, after many experiences and heartbreaks, Ezra learns that it's really possible to have a family. More importantly, he learns that it's really quite all right to dream. L. Ezra. Ch. 12 up!
1. Dream or Nightmare? I

_A/N: I briefly considered putting up a short summary of the Magnificent Seven TV series for those who have never seen or heard of the Mag7, but I decided that there was really no point. If you have never heard of the show, but read this and enjoy it anyway, then you can go look it up afterwards. If you HAVE heard of it, and are in fact an avid fan, then you'll already know all the details. Whatever the case, I hope you all enjoy it.  
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_Disclaimer: Any words not in the Magnificent Seven series belong to the neologists/lexicographers who discovered them. Everything else belongs to their respective creators.  
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_**Dream... or Nightmare?**__ (Part One)_

_He was dreaming. He had to be._

_This inhumane, piercing pain; these feelings of shock, grief, disbelief, and gut-wrenching horror that were rushing through his body, overwhelming his senses, freezing him in place; this could not be real. It just wasn't possible._

_For if this were truly real, then surely he would be drowning by now, floundering futilely against this suffocating tidal wave of emotions--against this new reality, this horrible, horrible betrayal--swallowing him... choking him... crushing him... until the very thought of continuing to live, to **exist** through this agony, was enough to send him spiraling helplessly into madness._

_Maybe that's why he couldn't move. Couldn't breathe._

_

* * *

_Ezra Standish sat slumped over the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and his hands idly shuffling a deck of cards. His head was down, his eyes unfocused, and his thoughts were far, far away.

It was cold, dreary, and down right depressing outside; it was one of those days where no matter how many layers of clothing you tried to smother yourself with, the cold air _still_ managed to get under everything, freezing you solid. Truthfully, it had been like this most of the week, but it seemed to be worse than usual today.

Ezra disliked the cold; he liked being out in it even less. On a day like today, it was only logical for one to curl up in a chair by the fire, nice and snug, and sleep the day away; one was most assuredly _not_ supposed to be out in the icy weather (likely to freeze to death or die of exposure) like the insane few he could see stumbling into the entrance of the saloon next to the hotel.

Despite the awful weather, the saloon stayed as full as ever, with travelers stopping by to get warm, buy a drink, and maybe try their hand at a game or two of chance before moving on again.

Maude (his mother), never one to pass up an opportunity of the lucrative nature, was always very insistent that he drag himself out of bed and make himself useful by running a game of poker while she conned and flirted money off of the many unfortunate patrons of the saloon, never mind if felt like he'd been run over by a station wagon. Almost always, anyway.

Today had been one of those 'unusual' days.

He had woken up that morning tired and irritable, feeling ghastly and horribly under the weather. When Maude had tried to get him up, he hadn't been able to summon the energy to be civilized. As a result, he had been uncommonly rude and emotional, even going so far as to ask, if Maude wanted money so badly, why didn't she just go rob a bank, or perhaps the national treasury?

Maude had seemed to take that comment personally. After a scathing lecture on control, appearances, and gentlemanly behavior, with an added "We-are-not-robbers-so-how-dare-you-insinuate-such-a-thing", she had told him dismissively that if that's how he was going to act, well, he could just stay up here for the rest of the evening. With one last disapproving glare, she had stormed off in a huff.

Ezra wasn't certain what it was exactly that had ticked her off; though Maude was of a rather flighty nature and more prone to mood swings than anyone he had ever had the misfortune to meet, he hadn't thought that his comment would offend her so much. Perhaps something he said had triggered a bad memory. Than again, even if he _had_ said something different and less offensive, because of the rude way he had presented it, it would probably have garnered the same reaction from her; his mother had the amazing gift of somehow managing to turn every accusation thrown at her person completely around to the point where she somehow became the injured party. He had been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of that 'righteous' indignation several times himself, and it was not an experience he wished to repeat.

_Perhaps robbing is a touchy subject for her, _he thought absently, switching the cards to one hand and shifting his body marginally to the right to allow him to deal out the cards onto the bedspread.

It hadn't been his fault, really; he was just naturally bad-tempered in the mornings, and the recent cold spell hadn't helped. Truthfully, he was beginning to feel restless; they had been here for over two weeks and this town was beginning to tire him. He sincerely wished that they would move on soon.

There was nothing particularly _wrong_ about it; all things considered, it _did_ have a passable hotel, as far as hotels go, plus a large selection of travelers passing through daily, providing a constant stream of ignorant victims for their money-earning schemes, but… something about this place… It just didn't sit right with him. Something about it--or something _in_ it perhaps--gave off a faint sense of unease, tinged with foreboding. It made him feel uncomfortable, and constantly on edge. It would be a relief to finally leave this place.

He flipped a card over, revealing the ten of hearts. He wondered where they would be going next. San Francisco? They had pulled off a great con last time they had gone, and Ezra had enjoyed himself immensely. He flipped another card, this time revealing the three of spades. Paris? They had gone there once, over three years ago, with one of Maude's latest husbands. He remembered feeling awed at all the sites, people, and the many foreign attractions, most especially the beautiful gambling halls. Maude had played in a high-stakes game while there, and she had raked in more money than they had ever managed to get in one setting.

At that moment, for some inexplicable reason, he felt a sudden wave of disquiet and revulsion flow through him. Was it a normal thing for a person to automatically attribute happiness and content with conning people and, essentially, stealing their hard earned money from them? Was this all his life would ever be about? Finding pleasure in others' misery and loss?

He immediately brushed that thought away, surprised at himself. They didn't steal from people, not really; they gained their funds through legitimate means. It's not like they _asked_ people to ­give them their money; people came to _them_, as good as throwing away their earnings when they indulged in his offered games of chance. It wasn't _their_ fault that people enjoyed a good card game from time to time. And if someone was foolish enough to be pulled into one of their cons, well… he wasn't about to let a good opportunity like that go to waste. He ignored the little voice in the back of his head that told him he sounded suspiciously like he was making excuses for himself.

Trying to get his mind away from that dangerous train of thought, he sat up off the bed, gently placing his cards on the bedside table, and snatched his evening jacket to change into before going outside. Maybe a few games of poker or Three-card Monte would be enough to get him out of his current line of thinking. If, of course, Maude had forgiven him enough to let him join in on the game. Knowing her, she would probably make some derisive comment about his age and lack of experience in an attempt to drive him off and get back at him for his earlier behavior. It was getting late, anyhow, and she should have been back by now, so he figured that was enough of an excuse as any to make his presence known to the evening population.

Ezra sighed. Dealing with Maude was like trying to keep a pet snake; it may be your pet, but that didn't change the fact that it would bite you without regrets, given the opportunity. Not to mention its uncanny ability to slither out of situations…

He brushed invisible lint off of his emerald green jacket (his favorite, because it brought out his eyes), straightening his clothing until he was satisfied he looked presentable. With a last shake of his head, Ezra snatched his cards off the table and exited the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

He'd just have to hang on to the hope that the snake would wait to strike until they were back in the privacy of their quarters.

* * *

_This... pain. _

_It was a new sensation for him; though no stranger to the occasional punch or slap by a vindictive victim of a con or the occasional angry stepfather, this... this pain was different. It seemed to be centered within his very being; burning, yet at the same time freezing, blazing through his veins with ferocious abandon; seeping out, slowly... treacherously; engulfing him, surrounding him in it's entirety. He could find no better words to describe it than pure and unforgiving agony. _

_He stared at the paper in his hands, seemingly harmless and innocent, staring mockingly up at him, taunting him; this, if nothing else, proved to him undeniably that this wa, indee, real; that this was not--no matter how much he might wish for it to be--a dream. _

_For this pain was too real not be reality._

* * *

Ezra entered the saloon through a side entrance, sliding cautiously towards an empty barstool at the end of the counter. As he moved, he silently scanned the faces of the many people occupying the tables, searching for the inevitable crowd that would be seated at the largest table, from the center of which would emanate the tell-tale Southern drawl of his mother as she entertained her 'customers'.

Only, he didn't find it.

He scanned the crowded room again, more thoroughly this time, and, as he again failed to find the face he was searching for, began to experience a strange sinking feeling in his stomach.

After another minute of fruitless searching, he gave up, ignoring his uneasiness. She had most likely stepped out for a moment, and would undoubtedly return soon. He may as well make use of the time she was gone; perhaps, if he could manage to procure a large enough sum of money in the time she was absent, she would be more inclined to forgive him for whatever it was that he had done to upset her.

He picked a promising looking table, and after drawing a suitable crowd with his unique shuffling abilities and promises of an excellent game, was soon immersed in a game of poker with a group of highly intoxicated gentlemen.

Though playing against people who had imbibed a bit too much alchohal had it's dangers, it was almost always worth it in the end, as the alchohal tended to dull the players' senses, giving them a false sense courage and making them cockier and more willing to bet large amounts of cash. It also served to make them horrible players, insuring Ezra's ability to control and win the games at his leisure.

Just as he was about to win another round--and gain a very large amount of money in the process--he was disturbed by a voice coming from directly behind him.

"Excuse me... sir, are you by any chance a Mr. Ezra Standish?"

It took all of Ezra's will power not to jump in fright and make an utter fool of himself.

Carefully erasing any traces of surprise from his face, he casually turned around to face the owner of the Hotel, Mr. Wycliff--whose family had owned the saloon for countless generations--who was presently looking down at him with undisguised curiousity.

"Yes sir, that is correct; what is it, exactly, that you requia' of mah person?" He drawled, unobtrusively slipping his winnings into a hidden pocket in his jacket.

The older man took a moment to decipher that. "I was given this letter by a Miss Maude Standish, and asked to give this to a young man named Ezra Standish. She said I might find you down here."

Ezra hid a grimace. If she was sending a letter, than she must have really been offended. The last time he had been 'granted' a letter, she had left him at a relative's house for three months. He hoped it wouldn't be as bad this time. Maybe she would give him a chance to explain.

_More like grovel, really_.

He gave the owner a tight smile, and forced out a pleasant, "Ah appreciate you taking the time to find me; ah am much obliged."

The man nodded, looking at him curiously again for a moment before handing him the letter. "She also gave me half of the fee for your room, said that you would be paying the rest. Also said she was in quite a hurry, and didn't have the time to tell you herself, so she left all her instructions in the letter."

Ezra couldn't quite manage to stifle a sigh; yes, definitely offended. It seemed he would have to continue this game some other day.

After giving a halfhearted apology to the two remaining gentlemen who had yet to pass out, he somehow managed to muster up a polite smile, telling the owner he would he down in a few minutes to give him the rest of the money.

He would need to read the letter first, before he could decide what to do next.

**TBC**

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_A/N: This was a bit short, but the next part will be longer. On to number two! Please feel free to review! _**- Achillies**

**_Up next_**_**:** Ezra has a flashback, reads a letter, and makes a horrible discovery._**  
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	2. Dream or Nightmare? II

_Disclaimer: the Magnificent Seven are not mine, no matter how much I might wish they were. If wishes were pigs, I would be eating pork for the rest of my life. _

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**_Dream... Or Nightmare?_ **_(Part Two)_

Situated once again on the bed, unknowingly in the same position he had been in earlier that evening, he flicked out the small knife he had hidden up his sleeve and slit open the envelope, easily removing the letter.

He held it in his hand blankly for a moment, his thoughts wandering to the last time he had received a letter like this.

**_(Flashback:)_**

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"Mr. Standish? This was left at the front desk this morning; I was asked to give it to you when you came down."

A still half-asleep Ezra gave a polite thank you to the lady manning the front desk, who had handed him a letter. He gave it a quick glance, outwardly unconcerned, but inside, he was instantly relieved to see Maude's familiar penmanship gracing the front of the letter.

He had awoken that morning to find Maude and her things gone, which is most certainly **not** a pleasant thing to wake up to. After their little spat yesterday, he had faintly suspected that something like this would happen, but he had hung onto the hope that she would at least wait until he was semi-coherent before clearing out. Despite being not-yet-awake, however, the worrying thought that she didn't normally take all of her things with her when she went to cool off managed to penetrate the thick fogs of sleep.

He had looked around a bit then, to confirm that she was indeed gone, and had also searched for a note or something similar to give him an idea of where she might have decided to go. Upon not finding anything, he had given up for the moment, deciding that the search would be better conducted after he had consumed his morning caffeine. It was a small relief to know that she had indeed left him a letter, hopefully explaining her abrupt departure and when she planned on returning.

He half stumbled, still managing to _somehow_ look dignified, over to a table and ordered a coffee and toast; there wasn't much else he could stomach in the mornings, despite the many arguments that existed against giving young (here he scoffed at the thought of himself being placed under the category of 'young') children coffee. As far as he was concerned, parents could keep coffee from their children if that was their wish, as long as they left him to his.

After gulping down the contents of the cup (in a _very_ dignified manner), as well as the contents of two more, he felt distinctly more alert, or at least alert enough to trust himself to comprehend and carry out whatever instructions Maude may have left him.

While taking a bite out of his toast, he slit open the envelope and removed he letter, careful not to get any crumbs on it. Unfolding it, he let his mind wander onto what he planned on doing until Maude returned, wondering what she might be up to at that moment, and contemplating what he might be able to get away with while not under her surveillance.

He was still chewing absently when his brain finally caught up with what his eyes were reading. He blinked stupidly for a moment, his mouth agape in shock. He quickly shut it when he realized what he was doing, swallowing back the food in his mouth harshly.

He scanned his eyes over the letter again, trying to convince himself that he hadn't read what he thought he had read, that Maude was not abandoning him, not leaving him on his own once again.

_My darling Ezra, _it read.

_It has come to my attention that you do not fully appreciate the lengths I go to to keep you safe and with a roof over your head. As was obvious from your outburst yesterday, I have let your ungrateful and rebellious attitude fester for far too long. You are beginning to be a distraction and a liability. I shall be staying at a friends house for the next few weeks; your presence is beginning to stifle me, and I am in need of a well-deserved break. I have arranged for you to stay at a relative's house until I return. I trust you still have enough of your wits about you to at least be able to procure a ticket for yourself. I hope that by the time I return you will have regained your senses and ceased from being so childish. You disappoint me, Ezra dear; I expected better from you. I hope it shall never happen again._

_Maude_

An overwhelming feeling of bitterness hit him so suddenly it took his breath away. He couldn't believe that he had been gullible enough to believe her when she had promised him that she wouldn't leave him behind again. She had promised him, and yet here she was, barely two months later, doing exactly what she had promised to never do again.

He was such a fool.

With great difficulty, he managed to construct his features back into his usual emotionless mask, though if one would look closely enough, one could still see the bitter pain reflected in his eyes. Maybe Maude was right; perhaps he _had_ been acting childishly. Perhaps it was time he learned to grow up.

Folding the letter carefully, he put it back in the envelope before placing it gently on the table. He left the table, paying for his meal and returning to his room, where he proceeded to pack his things and clear away any evidence that Ezra Standish had ever even entered it. That finished, he carried his things downstairs where he payed the lady at the registry, and then went over to the telegraph office to send a message to the 'relatives' mentioned in Maude's letter.

She may be gone now, but by the time she returned, he would be ready to show her why she would never have to leave him again and how much he appreciated the fact that she sacrificed so much of her time to drag him around with her. He would do whatever it took to make her proud, and convince her that she would never again have to leave him behind.

* * *

**_(End Flashback)_**

By the time she had finally come for him a few months later, he had returned to his carefully controlled state of no emotions, no outbursts, and no childishness. He may never be able to believe another one of her promises, but damn him if he would do anything to make her leave him behind ever again.

He glanced over the room, taking in the fact that it was once again empty of his mothers things. He began to feel sense of deja vu, and the feeling of uneasiness that he had felt back at the saloon hit him again strongly.

Ezra brought his eyes back to the letter with a sigh. He was really not looking forward to seeing what it held inside. He traced his hands lightly over the top of the letter, taking in the delicate penmanship used to write his name across the snowy white paper. He sighed again. Now he was just stalling. Better to get it over with; he had all the time in the world to wallow in misery later.

Taking one last, fortifying breath, he unfolded it and scanned his eyes warily over the page. When his eyes finally reached the bottom, untold moments later, he finally allowed his tense body to relax, letting out his breath with a whoosh of relief.

The page did not contain any poisonous fumes, explosives, rabid animals or anything even remotely hazardous; indeed, even the words themselves seemed to contain less venom than he had expected to find. It simply read that Maude believed that they had gained all they could from this town and that it was time to move on. She wished for them to be out by nightfall, and as she had a prior arrangement that simply could not wait, he was to pack up his things and move them and himself to room 24, where he was to give the enclosed letter to the man that would be waiting for him. He would be told where to go from there.

It had all been rather anti-climactic, really; now that it was over and done with, he felt rather foolish. The letter had been simple, to the point, and most definitely normal; no obvious sign that she was in any way still angry with him.

For some reason, the feeling of uneasiness--instead of fading back to wherever it had originated from--shot up ‑­alarmingly at that thought. There was no reason for him to feel that way; Maude not being angry was a good thing, wasn't it?

Maybe if he just ignored it, it would eventually go away.

_Naturally_.

Later, he would think back with regret that he had ignored his intuition.

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* * *

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As he dragged his things over to room 24, he let his thoughts wander again. What was this 'prior arrangement' that Maude had mentioned in the letter? Was she preparing for another con?

He shook his head in confusion and annoyance at himself; he had never before, in a single day, questioned Maude's intentions with such suspicion and frequency. Before he had received his first 'Letter', he had been more than willing to follow her orders explicitly and without question. Perhaps that had been the catalyst, receiving that letter; it had been gradual, but now that he thought on it, he recalled that that had been about time that he had begun to have doubts. Maybe that's when he had finally realized that not everything Maude did or made him do was in concern for his welfare or happiness. In fact, it had rather been the opposite at times.

He had been staring at the door for over a minute before he realized what he was doing. Shaking his head, he wondered what was wrong with him today. First, his outburst that morning; second, his constant questioning of Maude's motives, as well as his growing distraction (for he knew from experience that distractions in the life they led could very well lead to his death); thirdly, and the most worrying of the rest, was the strange feeling he had held in his gut for the past week, which had grown steadily stronger in the past few hours.

He clenched his jaw, suddenly furious with himself; this was stupid. He may have become less trusting of Maude in the past few hours, but that didn't mean he could just go and forget everything she had ever taught him. He would push those feelings and thoughts aside to look over later; right now, he had a job to do.

With new determination in his step, Ezra knocked firmly on the door, waiting until he heard a muffled, "Come in" before reaching for the knob and opening the door.

* * *

_For a moment, it was almost too overwhelming to handle; it felt like everything was caving in, his world tilting on its axis. Oh how he wished, in that moment, that he could just give in... give up the fight... float down, down, down, into that comforting blackness where there was no pain, no despair, and none of these wretched feelings of betrayal, which even now threatened to suffocate him with their intensity. _

_But he knew that this wasn't just about him; if he gave in now, into the temptingly awaiting blackness that hovered dangerously on the edge of his vision, he would forever have to live with the knowledge that he had let them win, both she and the monster standing before of him. _

**_She_**_ may have betrayed him in the most excruciating way possible (and there was no questioning the fact that the time for retribution would come, and soon) but for now, he would work on not giving this **bastard** the satisfaction of seeing him broken. He would get through this with his pride and dignity intact, if nothing else._

* * *

He stepped into the room, fully prepared to give one of his usual smooth, well-practiced greetings, when he caught sight of the man sitting in the center of the room. For some reason, that sight made him pause.

There was nothing unusual about him, other than the slightly more refined look about him that was a rather unusual sight in these parts. His clothing was well tailored, and he held himself in a way the spoke of class and a high social upbringing. No, what made him pause was the man's face, or more specifically, his eyes. They were black as pitch, flinty and glittering in a way that made him feel vaguely uneasy. The smile, too, which he had appeared on his face as he turned to face him, had a slightly sinister edge that he could not fully explain, and that, for some unfathomable reason, seemed strangely familiar.

He was usually the most comfortable with gentlemen of a higher class such as this, but this specific gentleman left him feeling anything but at ease.

He shook himself mentally; he was reading into this way too much. Again. He desperately needed to get out of this suspicious mood of his; it simply wasn't healthy or in any way called for. Maude had entrusted his care with this man, and that should be enough for him.

And yet, something about that smile...

Ezra brushed that thought aside and placed a polite smile on his face, his careful mask fully in place.

"Good evening, sir; mah name is Ezra Standish. Ah was told you were expecting mah presence. Ah hope ah am not disturbing yore evening."

"No, no, not at all; please _do _come in."

There was that smile again.

Ezra suppressed a shiver and walked inside the room, closing the door behind him.

"Mah mother, Maude Standish, told me ah was to give you this letta'," he said, reaching out to hand him another envelope that had been tucked into the envelope from Maude.

The man opened it, folding open the letter and reading it carefully. His eyes seemed to glitter even more sinisterly as his eyes traveled across the paper, his smile curling at the edges.

He looked up at Ezra when he had finished, and it was all he could do not to run out of the room that very minute. He suppressed that urge with difficulty.

"Well, it's good to know the woman can keep her word," he said silkily. "This letter here is for you, apparently; it should explain your situation. I sincerely do hope that you are a quick learner, as she so earnestly promised me you were."

Somehow, that wasn't very reassuring.

Ezra took the offered letter uneasily, unfolding it and scanning it quickly. What it contained was horrifying enough that he actually stopped breathing.

_Dearest Ezra, _it read.

_Over the course of the past month, it has become progressively more apparent that you have become more of a liability then a help. You have been slack with your training and you have become careless, disobedient and emotional, disregarding most if not everything I have ever taught you. I had thought I had cured you of that the last time I left you on your own, but it appears that it wasn't enough. _

_This gentleman has provided me with a solution; he has kindly offered to buy you off of me for a large sum of money, much too generous to pass up. He will hopefully be able to help you get rid of these horrible habits you have managed to pick up, and turn you back into the wonderful boy I used to know and be able to count on. Perhaps, once his has taught you the evils of defiance and rebelliousness, I may once again be able to stand your company. For the moment, you have become too much for me to handle. Hopefully, he will be able to get you back in line._

_Do not disappoint me again._

_Maude_

In the far corners of his mind, it finally came to him where he had remembered seeing this man's smile; it was the same one that graced the faces of the owners of the many whorehouses that he and Maude had passed through on their travels. Their smiles, silkily dangerous, all had one thing in common; that malicious edge, the one that he had been unable to determine before. That edge, which had brought much suffering to the lives of young men and women alike; that edge, which had brought many lives to ruin.

Although, somehow, despite that discovery, the only thing that really registered in his mind at that moment was one pleading thought:

_"Please, **please** let all of this be a dream."_

* * *

_As he stared with desperate defiance into the maliciously glittering black eyes before him_, _silently broadcasting their evil intent_, _his last conscious thought before a heavy blow was landed to his face and blackness prevailed, was the overwhelming realization that, no, this wasn't a dream; this wasn't a dream at all._

_This was, unmistakably, a horrifying nightmare._

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_A/N: Ta da! Chapter two completed. Please review, and tell me what you think! _- **Achillies**

**_Up Next:_**_ A flu, a tapestry, a hotel clerk and three of the Seven make their appearance._


	3. The Tapestry

_A/N: For those not familiar with the Magnificent Seven, please note that Vin is not unintelligent; he just has a Texan accent. Any unintelligible dialogue is my fault, not his. :D_

_Disclaimer: I own the hotel names and Mr. Laurence White, but everything else belongs to the creators of the Magnificent Seven. _

_Warning: Very mild naughty language. Should it offend you, well... go take it up with Chris.  
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__**The Tapestry  
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_Two months later:_

Vincent Tanner jumped lithely off the back of his horse, automatically reaching a hand out to steady the animal and catch hold of the reins.

He, Nathan Jackson, and Christopher Larabee had spent the last few days traveling in the direction of Eagle Bend, a town about 8 miles East of Four Corners. The town's largest hotel, humorously named 'The Hotel', had been hit with a sudden bout of flu that had spread alarmingly quickly throughout the town, and the town's resident doctor, Joshua Mathers (who had befriended Nathan on their last visit), was quite overwhelmed. He had asked for Nathan's help, and the healer had been happy to oblige him; he had, perhaps, been even happier to drag a reluctant Chris and Vin along with him, presumably to, "Keep him safe from _dangerous_ outlaws". Personally, Vin thought the healer had chosen them simply because they had been the only two unwilling to accompany him.

The trip itself, which should have taken a day and a half of leisure riding, had in fact taken three.

They would have arrived on time if not for Vin's horse, Peso (an ornery cuss who had absolutely no qualms with biting his owner and anyone he could get his teeth on), who had managed to stumble on an especially rocky area of the terrain and had flung his rider off his seat and onto the ground. Vin had unfortunately banged his head on an out-cropping of rock, knocking him out cold.

Although the stubborn Texan, upon awakening by means of a splash of water to the face, had sworn up and down his ancestry that he was perfectly fine, that it had been deliberate and that he was most _definitely_ going to kill his "Goddam' horse" in as painful a way as humanly possible, Nathan had been adamant that he be allowed to give him a proper examination.

Upon looking him over carefully, it became apparent that Vin had a concussion; the healer had then told an irate Chris and a sullen Vin, in no uncertain terms, that they were not moving another inch. They had reluctantly set up camp for the night, despite the fact that there were still a few more hours of day light left; no matter of cajoling, bargaining, threatening, or Larabee-glaring could convince the determined healer to let them finish the last stretch of their journey until his was positive the concussion was no longer a danger. Which, naturally, had taken a day and a half of swallowing nauseating concoctions and being ordered to, "Not move a muscle" by an over-protective Nathan in Mother-Hen mode.

Thus the reason for their late arrival; Vin hoped that the one-and-a-half day difference hadn't given the illness a chance to spread any further, therefore making their stay longer.

He sighed, turning to follow after Chris and Nathan, who were in the lead, tugging Peso, who had taken his pause as an opportunity to chew at a near by post, in the direction of the hotel livery. He was dirty, tired, and irritable, and his head wouldn't stop pounding; apparently, Nathan's vile brews hadn't been enough to blow away his headache. Maybe a drink at the saloon would make him feel better.

Then again, knowing his luck, the infuriating healer would probably forbid him from drinking anything on account of the concussion, despite the fact that it should have healed by now. Vin grimaced at that thought.

"You all right there, Vin?" Chris called from where he'd stopped in the entrance of the livery, his head tilted in question. Vin would have nodded, but he didn't figure that would help his head much, so he settled for another grimace. Chris raised an eyebrow, but left it at that, somehow sensing that the quiet tracker wasn't in the mood for twenty-questions.

"If your head's hurtin' again, I can give you something for it," Nathan added, stopping as well to look back at Vin, his eyes raking his body for any other injuries. Vin managed to keep from rolling his eyes with difficulty.

"I'm jist fine, Nathan; lay off fer spell, would ya'?"

His terse comment earned him another raised eyebrow, but again Chris refrained questioning him. Vin was rather amazed the older man's restraint, and wondered where he'd managed to dredge it up. Now that he thought back on it, the black-clad gunslinger had been surprisingly mellow for the past few days, only blowing up at them a handful of times. Vin couldn't have been more thankful; it was taking all of his concentration not to show how much pain he was in.

"Have it your way, Vin; it's your head. If either of you'll be needing me, I'll be up at the clinic." Nathan said with a shrug, jerking his head in the clinics general vicinity as he handed his horse to the stable hands. "Joshua said that there are rooms saved for us at the Warbeck Hotel down the road, if you want to go check them out; he said he doubted we would have appreciated stayin' in a hotel full o' sick people."

"Damn right," Chris grunted. He finished removing his saddlebags and curtly told the waiting stable hand that he could take care of his horse himself, thank-you-very-much. Vin stifled a chuckled; yep, hurricane-Larabee was back in town.

* * *

As Nathan walked to the clinic, Chris and Vin headed over to the Warbeck Hotel to claim their rooms. The Warbeck Hotel, a few buildings down from 'the Hotel', a reputed ace-high establishment and much newer than it's counterpart, having only been opened a few weeks before. Because of the flu, many of the patrons staying in 'the Hotel' had been relocated to the Warbeck Hotel to wait out the illness, and as a result it was almost completely full.

As the two men walked into the hotel, their arrival was announced by a pleasant chiming from the bell on the door. A young man sitting at the registry, who had been busy scribbling something on a piece of paper, looked up at their entrance. His mousy brown hair was slightly tousled, giving him the look of someone who had a habit of running his hand through his hair on a regular basis. His face had a rather mousy look to it as well, and though that face now held a polite, mildly bored and distant expression (which was slightly ruined by the large horn-rimmed glasses balanced precariously on his freckle-dotted nose), Vin was vaguely reminded of an older, bookworm-ish version of JD.

"Ah, Mister Tanner, and... Mister Jackson?" He asked, pushing his glasses up with one finger, his eyes flitting from one to the other. Chris gave a terse, "It's Larabee", while Vin settled simply for inclining his head in acknowledgement.

"Yes... well, Mister Tanner... Mister Larabee; my name is Laurence White. I've been instructed to lead you to the rooms Dr. Mathers has reserved for you. If you'd like, I could lead you there now...?"

Both men nodded their assent. White nodded absently to himself, turning momentarily back to his papers, shuffling and stacking the many notes scattered across his desk.

That completed, White turned and strode to the stairs, with Chris following intimidatingly close behind and Vin trailing unhurriedly in his wake.

He led them up to room number 33 and 34. Holding out the keys, White proceeded to begin the hotel's standard welcoming speech, all in the very dull voice of one who has had to repeat something one too many times. Chris, shooting White an impatient glare, cut him off mid sentence by jabbing a hand in front of his face, uttering a single word: "Keys." With a faint look of fright, White handed him the key to room 34, upon which Chris promptly turned, unlocked said door, and stepped inside without another word to either of them.  
Gulping, the younger man quickly handed the other to key to Vin, stammering out a hurried, "If you need anything, I-I'll... be downstairs..." before turning on his heel and scurrying back towards the stairs, tripping over his own feet in his haste. Vin chuckled openly this time; anyone unfortunate enough to come in contact with the intimidating gunslinger always walked away in much the same manner.

Chris threw a quizzical over his shoulder, but Vin shook his head, so with a slight shrug, he continued his perusal of room 34.

* * *

Vin stuck his head through the doorway to room 33. It was a very pleasant room; new wallpapering graced the walls in creamy beige, while crisp white curtains dotted with a pattern of small flowers adorned the glass-pained windows. A single bed, covered in a dark blue quilt, sat in the left-hand corner, a wooden dresser and hooks for hanging clothes at its foot. In the right-hand corner was a small writing desk, a short table and wash basin a few feet to its right, and a floor-lenth mirror another foot down.

On the left-hand wall, placed directly above the bed, hung a large tapestry, faded with time yet still beautiful in its antiquity, a picture depicting a horse galloping across the plains displayed across its wide front.

The picture began at the bottom with a tasteful blend of green, beige and brown with splashes of white, blue, red, pink, yellow and purple, creating the flowers and grass upon which galloped the magnificent wild mustang; with its coat a patchy mixture of white, brown and red, its black eyes strangely glittering and its front legs raised, it seemed prepared to jump out at you from its confines. Above and behind the mustang was the sky; a colorful array of pastel reds, purples, pinks, golds and blues, all intricately woven together to create a breathtaking sunset.

Vin's breath caught in his throat, all other thoughts forgotten as he stared at this intricate work of art. His hands lightly traced over the patterns and designs, each stitch of colorful thread fused seamlessly together to create a masterpiece.

As he studied it, his thoughts wandered to their unconventional team- well, family, really; for that was certainly what it was.

Chris, the stern disciplinarian, the one who kept everyone in line; Josiah, the gentle philosopher, who was always there to help you get rid of your burdens and lead you back onto the path of righteousness; Nathan, the healer and mother-hen, the one who everyone went to make them better; Buck, the ladies man, with a heart the size of Texas and a sense of humor that usually lead him to play pranks; JD, the one-who-never-stopped-talking and the baby of the family, whom you could always count on to put you out of a bad mood.

Lastly, himself; the quiet protector, the one who stood in the back ground, waiting; ready at a moments notice to defend his family and fight any who would wish to bring them harm.

They really were quite the unconventional family, but he wouldn't have it any other way. Each and every one of them was vital to the completion of the picture on the tapestry of their lives; without one, it would be incomplete.

His eyes were drawn to a corner of the fabric; this edge was frayed, part of its green and brown thread coming apart. He tugged lightly at the threads, watching as another inch was unraveled. When even such a small part was undone and missing, no matter how insignificant the part, when one looked at the overall picture its loss was sorely felt. Maybe, like the quilt, their little family was incomplete. Maybe, whether they realized it or not, something was missing; something, without which, they would never be whole.

As that thought passed through his mind, his eyes suddenly brightened as he was hit with an inspiration. With one last, quick sweep of the room, his eyes lingering on the tapestry, he spun around and strode out the door, not even bothering to shut it behind him.

* * *

At some point in his existence, Laurence White, after a long moment of contemplation, had come to the conclusion that his life could very well in fact be compared with that of an a hundred-piece puzzle.

Every little thing that occurred in Laurence's daily life--be it brushing his teeth before bed or walking to the Warbeck Hotel every morning for work--was like a piece in the puzzle; while some pieces may appear unimportant and unneeded, no piece could take the place of the other or fit into another's space.

To fully complete the picture, it was imperative that the order be absolute, every piece accounted for and matched according to shape, design and color. Each piece was important; 'a place for everything, and everything in its place.'

You lose one piece, and poof! No more puzzle.

Now imagine that fragile picture, only recently completed and made up of those itty-bitty little pieces, in the hands of an innocent young child with no appreciation for the pretty picture or the time spent to fit it all together, and who most certainly preferred it in its state of individual itty-bitty-ness.

_Ouch_.

'Ouch', however, could not adequately describe the less-than-polite thoughts and feelings that had flown steadily through Laurence's mind ever since the 'man in black' and his companion had walked through the hotel doors, throwing a wrench into his pleasantly dull and run-of-the-mill life.

After completing his usual morning routine and arriving at the hotel exactly on time, he had situated himself comfortably at his desk, physically and mentally prepared to face any and all customers who would soon begin arriving at their doors, seeking lodging of the finest quality.

Or so he had thought, until two frightening and extremely rude individuals had barged into his life, disrupting his calm existence.

Despite the many horrible things he had experienced in the short time he had had to spend in their presence, he'd never-the-less managed to escape from their presence relatively whole, although he'd come very close to fainting from the menacing one's glare. Somehow, he'd managed to delude himself into thinking that his life could now go back to normal.

Instead, no less than an hour or two after having assured himself once again of his readiness to face the day, Lawrence found himself gaping in abject horror as the lanky man in his buckskin coat, instead of walking down the stairs as any civilized person would do, jumped onto the banister and slid smoothly down, coming to a stop less than a foot in front of his desk.

He'd already had ten years glared off his life by the frightening man who was (hopefully) still upstairs, and now he had to be subjected to THIS?

From the puzzle of 'the Life of Laurence White', another piece broke away and was lost.

* * *

Vin carefully held back a smirk at the look on poor White's face as he came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs.

In a sudden moment of immaturity, he had decided to slide down the banister. Although he'd probably given the young man a heart attack in the process, he figured the look on his face was more than worth it.

"S'cuse me... Laurie, was it?"

The receptionist blinked and swallowed, visibly trying to gather his wits about him. Another swallow, and a finger appeared to push back the drooping glasses.

"I... Laurence."

"...What?"

"Laurence." _Voice is stronger now, mus' be gettin' over his shock._ "My name is _Laurence_."

"Oh, righ', _Laurence_," Vin corrected himself brightly, snickering inwardly at the faint look of distaste on _Laurence's_ face. "Anyways, I jist wanted to ask about the tapestry ya have hangin' in room number 33."

At his blank look, Vin clarified, "The one with the horse?"

White nodded with a look of recognition. "Ah, yes, that one; an amazing masterpiece. It has been in that room since before I arrived here; I doubt even Mr. Warbeck knows where it came from. It just seemed to... appear there one day. It adds a wonderful touch to the decor."

"I was wonderin'... how much would ya take fer it?"

_Looks like I managed ta shock ya again. _It was getting very hard not to snicker out loud.

"I... I don't think...I don't think it's for sale, sir."

_Hotel manual not prepare ya for this, Laurie? _Another stifled snicker.

"Like ya said, ya ain't sure how it got there, so how'd ya know iffin it was bought an paid for?? Maybe someone jist up and forgot it, an' it somehow got left on the wall. Shouldn' be a problem if I pay for it proper."

"Still, Mr. Tanner, I don't... well, I really don't think it's for sale."

"What's not for sale?"

Though Vin had heard the gunslinger approaching, from the look on White's face, he clearly hadn't; he looked liked he'd seen a ghost.

Vin gave in to the urge to snicker this time; Laurie sure did have a large range of facial expressions.

Chris gave him a look, a mixture of irritation and concern (no doubt for his mental health), before he studiously ignored him, fixing a glare in White's direction instead.

The receptionist gulped, running a shaky hand through his hair. Blinking rapidly, he pushed his glasses up his nose again, and with a slight shiver, attempted to answer him.

"A... what?"

"I _said, _what ain't for sale?"

_Poor kid_, thought Vin with another snicker. _He ain't got no chance of winnin' this one now, not with cowboy ta back me up._

Chris shot another irritated glare in his direction, before once again focusing on the extremely nervous White.

"I... he..." White stammered for a moment, words tripping over themselves as he floundered for an appropriate answer, before he managed to squeak out, "Mr. Tanner wanted to know if the tapestry upstairs was for sale, and I told him no, but he didn't think so and he was trying to convince me otherwise before you came behind us and scared the _life_ out of me."

White paled; clearly, he hadn't meant to say that last part. Chris's glare looked as frightening as ever, but Vin could see the corners of his mouth twitching in humor.

"I-I-mean, I meant to say that... I really don't think it's for sale. Sir."

"Is that so?" An icy smirk appeared on his face. "Are you really sure about that--_Laurence_?"

The young man gulped again, almost physically cringing away from the renewed strength of Chris's glare. "Um... I guess… m-maybe-maybe we c-could... work something out..."

"That's what I like to hear. When you're finished, Tanner, get your ass over to the clinic; we need to meet up with Nathan."

With a parting glare, Chris stalked out of the hotel, slamming the door behind him.

Vin turned to the frozen receptionist with an evil grin. "So, Laurie, abou' that tapestry..."

* * *

_A/N: Liked it? Hated it?? Be kind enough to let me know. - _**Achillies**

_**Up next**: the boys have a drink, Ezra gains both welcome and unwelcome attention, and Vin gets an owie._


	4. First Appearences

_A/N: Forget anything I said before; if you are unfamiliar with Mag7, you really should look up the plot and characters before reading any further. Enjoy, and be sure to leave a comment._

_**I LOVE MY SISTERS RIGHT NOW!!!** They bought me the entire Magnificent Seven series on DVD!!! -Kisses them- My stories should be able to improve a bit, now that I have easy access to reference of the names of places and people and stuff. :D  
_

_Disclaimer: Magnificent Seven belongs to its creator. Imagine that._

_**WARNING:** Many painful ouchies in this chapter! Not for the faint of heart! :D  
_

* * *

**_First Appearances_**

Thirty minutes later found Vin lounging comfortably in the town's most popular saloon, commonly known as "The Sandpiper Saloon". Taking a swig of his drink, Vin let his thoughts drift back to the events that had led him to this point in his life.

Before he'd met up with Chris Larabee in the town of Four Corners, his future had seemed very bleak. Hunted by outlaws and lawmen alike, a bounty on his head and hiding under an assumed name at every town he stopped by, he'd been occupied with staying alive long enough to get to the next town, never mind his dreams of settling down and starting a family or finding a home. In fact, forget bleak--his future had seemed non-existent!

When he'd found Four Corners, however, he'd found more than a place to settle down; he'd found friends and family. Though they might not be the family of his own that he'd dreamed about, they were more than he could ever have hoped for, and he was truly thankful to have been so blessed.

A few months after settling in Four Corners as a lawman, a bounty hunter had happened upon Four Corners, and his secret had come out. However, contrary to his fears, they--and most importantly, Chris--hadn't rejected him, and had in fact stood by him and helped him to prove his innocence.  
Even when Jess Kincaid's family had gone to court hounding for justice, they had stood by him as the judge uttered his final decision, proclaiming him, "Innocent of all charges."

When Chris had come to this very town to search for his family's killer, Vin had been able to return the favor, watching his back and helping him in his endeavor. When they're only link to the actual killer jumped into the burning livery, Vin had been there to support him, a silent comforter during his pain.

Thankfully, the town's people hadn't held any grudges over the damage they had done in their search, or their current trip would have been a lot more unpleasant.

"Don't think too hard there, pard, you're liable to break somethin'."

Bringing himself back to the present with a shake of his head, Vin snorted and grabbed Chris's tumbler of beer, downing the remainder with a gulp.

_Good thing Nathan didn't want'ta come, otherwise there ain't no way I'd be gettin' away with this righ' now_, he mused, dodging the hand that reached out to swipe his drink.

"Did ya' check out tha other room?" Vin asked.

"Yep."

"Did ya like it?"

"Yep."

_Is he smirkin' at me?_

"Was it tha same as tha one I checked out?"

"Yep."

"Cowboy, are ya ever gonna say anythin' other than 'yep'?"

"Nope."

Vin snorted again. "Well then, I guess I'm gonna have ta stick ta yes or no questions. Did tha other room have two beds? I didn' git to check."

"Not a yes or no question, Vin," Chris muttered, a smirk now clearly evident.

Rolling his eyes, Vin slyly countered, "Well, since ya don't seem ta be objectin', I guess I'll jist have to take tha single bed. You kin' go ahead share tha other room with Nathan."

Pointedly ignoring Chris's frustrated glower at being outwitted, he turned to scan the room, taking sips from another snatched beer from time to time.

At five-thirty in the afternoon, the saloon was comfortably crowded. People from many different walks of life sat at the rounded tables, some enjoying an afternoon drink, others taking the opportunity to lose and win some cash. Rich gentlemen, with plenty of money to lose; farmers, dirty and tired after a hard day's work; cowboys, half-way to completely drunk and itching to start a good fight; normal town's folk, simply looking to take a break and talk with friends; all gathered here, mindless of stations or class. It was truly fascinating to watch.

Of course, while Vin had been expecting a variety of people, he certainly hadn't been expecting to see the person sitting at one of the larger tables, holding a hand of cards; nor did he expect to hear a soft southern drawl utter a satisfied, "Full house, gentlemen."

Vin blinked, furrowed his brow, and blinked again. _Please tell me that's my 'magination._

"What is, Vin?" Chris asked.

Vin hadn't realised he'd said it out loud. "Oh, nothin', jist... Chris, tell me I ain't seein' that," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the table and the person who was now collecting his winning.

Chris turned his head in that direction, and blinked. A second later, he narrowed his eyes.

"What the hell is a kid doin' in here?"

* * *

"Full house, gentlemen," Ezra drawled with satisfaction, hiding his exhaustion with a toothy grin, his gold tooth flashing in the dim light of the saloon.

He knew it was risky to be out in the open, and in such an obvious place, but he'd needed the funds desperately; hopefully, what he'd gained tonight would be enough to last him for a few more towns.

Ever since... _that day_, he'd been moving from town to town--stowing away in station wagons, hitching rides with friendly travelers, trying his best to stay hidden. He'd never stayed in one town for more than a day at a time, not wanting to risk the possibility of discovery. As low a profile as he tried to keep, his startling playing abilities and distinct Southern accent made him very hard to forget. As such, he tried to stay away from the tables until he could avoid them no longer.

Like today.

Even as he gathered up his winnings, he could feel eyes on his back. He had felt various eyes on his back throughout the day--he'd discovered that, if he concentrated hard enough, he was able to differentiate between the stares and discern between those of good and bad intents--but this one felt different. He couldn't quite place it, but it didn't seem so much annoyed or angry, like the others. Rather, it seemed almost... curious?

Not that that was very unusual; his age alone was enough to garner unwanted attention. This was one of the main reasons he tried to stay away from the tables and restricted himself to only a game or two every other town. It was simply too dangerous.

Besides, these days the very _thought_ of cards was enough to dredge up memories that he tried very hard to suppress. He preferred to leave them as they were, hidden, as often as possible. He was already getting too little sleep as it was.

Ezra snorted quietly to himself. _Ah neva' thought ah'd see the day when ah disliked the thought of playing a game of cards._

A sigh was building up in his lungs, but he ruthlessly stifled the urge to let it out. It wouldn't do for him to show any weakness, even through something so simple as a sigh. A sigh could be interpreted, and misinterpreted, in too many ways.

Flashing a wide grin, he pushed everything else out of his mind other than thoughts of the game. One last game, and he could relax--or, at least, relax as much as he could safely allow.

"Deal me in as well, sir, if you please."

* * *

"Pard, it's really none of our business," Chris tried again. Vin continued to ignore him, staring at the young Southerner as if he was the most fascinating yet confusing thing he had ever seen.

Chris sighed. Really, Vin was overreacting. Although it was quite unusual for a child to be seen in a saloon, it wasn't as if they were outlawed from entering. If their parents allowed it, that was their prerogative; as long as the kid didn't do anything to disrupt the other customers, there wasn't really anything the owners could do.

Besides, it really wasn't any of their business.

**_'Course_**_ it ain't, SHERIFF_, a nasty little voice murmured in his head. It sounded suspiciously like Vin. _This ain't even yer town; none of yer concern, none of yer business. Iffin' ya jist ignore it, I'm sure tha problem'll take care of itself eventually. I'm sure there's a reason the kid's in here; iffin he wasn't supposed'ta, then why hasn' he been kicked out before now?_

Another voice popped into existence, one that reminded him vaguely of Josiah. _But what if there's another reason the child is here? Maybe it's not a good reason. Maybe it's something more... sinister. _

_Now why would **tha'** be? _'Nasty Vin' was back. _Jist 'cause someone's in a saloon doesn' automatically mean he's got'a sinister a'genda. Yer here, ain't ya?_

_Maybe not with just anyone, _'Mr. Josiah Pleasant' argued. _But a child! Not something you see everyday. Even if it isn't something sinister, he would have to be up to some kind of mischief to be in here, playing cards and gambling. Add that to the fact that no sane parent would allow their child to be in a saloon, much less be gambling in one... If you had found Adam in a saloon, you would have tanned his hide! At least ask around, try to find out where his parents are. Who knows? Maybe he got lost._

_Lost? **Sure**. _If Nasty Vin were real, he would have snorted. As it was, he gave the mental equivalent of one instead._ 'Course he's lost; I mean, iffin I'D gotten lost, I would've _definitely_ gone ta tha nearest saloon ta play cards. Sure. **LOST**. _Another mental snort.

_Fine, maybe not _lost_ than, _Mr. Josiah Pleasant amended grudgingly._ The lack of parental supervision, however, still hints toward a less-than-stellar objective. Whatever the case, whether he has a legitimate reason or not, that still leaves one question; how is a child of his age managing to hold his own in a game of cards?_

Nasty Vin didn't seem to have an answer for that.

* * *

Trying to ignore the fact that he'd just had both his friends arguing in his head, Chris once again tried to snap Vin out of his seeming daze.

"Come on, Vin, you're going to make him nervous. Why don't we just go ask around? I'm sure there's someone 'round here who knows where the kid came from. We can find out more about him in the process."

Vin blinked as if coming out of a trance. Shaking his head slowly, he took a large gulp of his now warm beer.

"Somethin's not righ' 'bout this, Chris; I don' like it at all. I'm gonna go look 'round."

Casting an inscrutable look in the boys direction, Vin plopped his hat on his head and strolled out the doors. Chris, after giving his beer last a longing glance, went to follow after him, leaving the doors swinging gently in his wake.

* * *

Ezra exhaled slowly in relief when he felt the eyes on his back finally look away.

Simply curious or not, whoever had been staring at him had been staring a little too long for comfort. He really needed to finish this game and get out of here. They would be asking questions soon; it was inevitable. And questions were exactly what he _didn't _need right now.

To keep anyone from deciding to accuse him of cheating, he would lose this round, and pull out of the game with excuses of having lost his good luck for the day. Hopefully, that would keep them satisfied.

"Well, gentlemen, it appea's that mah luck has finally run out; ah believe ah shall have to withdraw from this delightful game. Ah hope we will have the chance to play again sometime. Tomorrow, perhaps?"

Definitely time to leave.

* * *

Laurence White looked up at a chiming from the door, and almost-_almost-_let out a groan.

Just when he thought he was rid of them, just when he thought that his life could go back to normal, here they came again, prancing carelessly through his doors. Well, not quite prancing; stomping, more like. Rather like a herd of buffalos.

When they one with the curly hair--Tanner?--left a muddy foot print on the newly-cleaned carpet, Lawrence _did_ groan out loud. Would his suffering never end? He'd just cleaned the damned thing!

"-maybe ya've seen him?"

Laurence pulled a painful smile onto his face with difficulty. "Excuse me?"

"I said, do ya happen ta know a boy about yea high, brown hair, maybe six, seven years old with a southern accen'?"

Racking his brain, Laurence vaguely recalled seeing a kid with that description. In fact, now that he thought about it, he seemed to recall seeing him hanging around the saloon.

"I... might have. Why do you want to know?"

"'Cause I wanna kidnap 'im," the man deadpanned. His companion--Larabee?--shot Tanner a warning glare; Tanner didn't even glance at him. Laurence just blinked.

He stayed silent for a few moments, before he realized that Tanner was waiting for an answer.

"...He came with his family--an older man and his wife--in a wagon, a few days ago. Dunbar, I think their name was. They headed over to the blacksmith down the road right away; horse tossed a shoe or something. They went to the boarding house afterwards. Didn't see where the kid went, though. They're probably just passing through."

Tanner tilted his hat back and stared at him unerringly. "Ya seem ta know a lot 'bout this family tha's, 'jist passin' through', as ya say."

"I... make it a habit to know what happens in this town. I DO live here, you know." Laurence managed to dredge up a small amount of his remaining courage and held Tanner's stare, even though inside he was close to having a break down. _And I thought the BLACK guy was the scary one._

After a moment, Tanner nodded his head, seeming to come to some silent conclusion. A quick nod and a glance in Larabee's direction, and Laurence was suddenly alone--the swinging doors the only evidence that this had NOT been his imagination--and left to gape at the room in shock once again.

* * *

Ezra quickly ducked into a shadow as a team of horses thudded past. It was still crowded in the streets at this hour, and trying to get back undetected to where he had stashed his things was not going to be easy. It might have been easier if he wasn't just so very _tired_.

_Ah can't go on like this much longa', _he thought with a sigh. _Ah'm no where near mah best_, _and ah really can't afford to be makin' any mistakes righ' now. _

Ducking again to avoid a strolling couple, he scanned his surroundings for anything out of the ordinary. It didn't appear that he was being follow... so far. If only it would stay that way.

Turning down a narrow alley near the boarding house, Ezra half-ran to where he had hidden his belongings. With his luck, he things were probably gone, stolen by some thief trying to make a living on the streets. He tried not to think about the fact that that pretty much described him and his current situation.

Ezra stuck his hand under some broken boxes and rummaged around for a minute, releasing a relieved sigh when his hand connected with something other than wood. He pulled out his bag and let a triumphant grin flit over his face. It seemed that his luck would hold out for another day.

The grin froze on his face when a slow clapping started behind him. His heart filled with dread, Ezra slowly turned around, coming face-to-face with the one person he had hoped beyond hope to _not_ meet up with anytime soon.

_So much for mah good luck_, he thought dully, swallowing back the bile in his throat.

* * *

"Tell me again, Vin; _why_ are we standing here?" An irritated voice pierced the silence.

Vin stayed silent, continuing to lean against the post and stare at the passing people from beneath the brim of his hat. So many people passed through this town every day, caring only about their destination and whatever it was they had come to this town for. If someone got shot in the street, well, that would gain some interest, sure, but otherwise, they seemed content to mind their own business. It made one wonder if they even gave a damn about anyone other than themselves. If someone _did_ happen to get shot, they would probably bleed out before anyone did anything other than gawk at him. Such was the way of humanity; selfish and caring only for one's self.

"_Tanner_."

Vin's lips curled into a light smirk. The easiest way to piss of Chris was to ignore him; he _hated_ being ignored.

"Have some patience, Chris; good things come ta those tha' wait. At the rate yer goin', ya ain't gonna git a thing."

His companion's only reply was an irritated snarl.

Vin's body stiffened as his 'target' came into view. He had expected to see him about now, so that wasn't a surprise. The person was walking beside him, however, was.

Vin rested his hand on his mare's leg and shifted his stance to a more threatening one almost unconsciously.

It wasn't a unusual site to see a man and a boy walking together down the street. In fact, at a passing glance, you wouldn't be able to tell that they were anything but a father and son, happily enjoying an afternoon walk together.

Only his prior knowledge enabled him to recognize the stiff, tense body, and the way the hand on the shoulder was gripped in a painful, bruising hold.

"Chris; ya see the man an' the kid headed in out direction?"

Shifting in his chair, Chris lifted his head and glared out at the street. Catching site of whom Vin was talking about, he gave a slow nod.

"That's the kid from the saloon. Who's the man walking with him?"

"Tha's what I inten' ta find out," Vin said decisively, pushing himself off the post and strolling leisurely towards the pair as if he had not a care in the world.

He saw the boy's eyes widen a fraction as he saw him approaching, but other than that, the blank look on his face didn't change. With a last glance behind him to insure that Chris was in a position to help should the need arise, Vin called out.

"Ther' ya are, son, I've been lookin' all over for ya! Where'd ya run off ta?"

The man's head whipped up at the sound of Vin's voice, and he tightened his hold on the boy instinctively.

"...Son?" He asked, the term coming out almost as a question. The boy's eyes widened further, and he looked up at Vin with a questioning, almost fearful expression. Vin gave him a subtle wink, using his eyes to tell him to play along. It seemed he got the message, because his expression instantly morphed into one of contriteness.

"Ah'm sorry... father; ah got lost," Ezra said, trying to sound repentant and guilty, even as his heart thudded painfully in his chest.

"Father?" The man seemed to be getting more and more bewildered by the second. Glancing quickly between Vin and Ezra for a few moments, he seemed to come to a decision. Straightening, he sneered at Vin.

"This boy isn't your son; he's-" he hesitated fractionally, before finishing, "-my charge. He's been with me since he was a child. What do you think you're going on about?"

Vin pulled his expression into one of outrage. "Yer charge? I don't know what _yer_ goin' on about, mister, but this boy ain't yer kid; he's mine. The boy tha' I've raised since he was an_ infan'_. I'd thank ya to please unhand 'im."

"And I don't know what game _your_ playing, _sir_, but this boy isn't your son. I'd like to ask _you_ to please leave us alone," the man said in a cold voice.

Vin, who had been studying him carefully as he spoke, glimpsed a thin shimmer of sweat marking the man's brow. _Got'cha!_

"Well, whatever game yer playin' ain't funny no more; never was, fer that matter." Vin lightly brushed his coat aside and rested his hand on his rifle. "I'm goin' ta take him with me now, and you ain't gonna to anythin' funny, or his uncle Chris is gonna riddle ya full a' bullet holes. _Com'prende?_"

The man's eyes darted from Vin's hand to over his shoulder at Chris. As if on cue, Chris sat up in his chair and began to idly twirl his gun, a steady, no-nonsense look on his face. The man gulped almost imperceptibly.

Looking once again at Vin's face, he saw that his expression was one which said that he wouldn't hesitate to use his rifle if he needed to. Letting out a frustrated breath through his teeth, the man appeared to give in, pushing the kid forward harshly.

"Fine, take him; never liked the brat anyway." Without another word, he spun around and stalked off, seeming in a hurry to get away from the scene.

As his former captor fled, Ezra gazed up at his savior, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Vin, seeing the look of suspicion facing his way, opened his mouth to speak, but Chris's warning shout of "_Vin!_ _Get down!!_" had him rolling to the ground, pulling the boy down with him.

Unfortunately, Chris's warning hadn't come fast enough.

As he hit the ground, Vin heard a cry of pain, just as he felt a something pierce through the flesh of his left shoulder. Distantly, he recognized the voice as his own, as well as the sound of a gun being discharged twice, and the sound of Chris swearing loudly. As he hit the ground, he kept his body rigid, stifling the urge to cry out again. He was almost unconscious by the time he felt something moving out from under him; when something hard brushed against his shoulder, Vin was unable to keep from screaming out in pain. Moments later, he fell mercifully into unconsciousness.

* * *

_A/N: Hahaha, an evil cliffhanger! Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging for long. I'll try not to, anyway, as long as my muse doesn't go on an unexpected vacation. Please be sure to leave a review! They are like chocolates for me, I tell you. Very expensive chocolates. _**- Achillies**

**_Next Up:_ **_Vin slowly recovers, Ezra makes some bad decisions, and the quartet begin their preparations for the return home._


	5. Run Away, or Die Trying? I

_A/N: I was going to make this one chapter, but it got a bit too long, so I split it into two, like the first chapter. Hope ya'll don't mind too much. :D  
I was going to wait a few more days so that I could properly beta it, but I figured I'd made you guys wait for long enough, so... -Shrugs- Hope I didn't miss anything big. Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Mag7 sort._

* * *

_**Run Away, or Die Trying? **__(Part One)**  
**_

**Sounds drifting through his conscious...movement in his vicinity.**

Vin tried to pin point where the sound was coming from, but he couldn't seem to get his mind to concentrate.

_"-Bullet... tore right through... clean shot..."_

He tried to move, but his body wouldn't cooperate. Feeling slightly panicky, he tried to move again, but only succeeded in re-igniting the explosive pain in his shoulder. He cried out, trying desperately to flee from the pain.

**Voices getting louder, hands prodding his limbs.**

When the roving hands came in contact with his shoulder, Vin screamed in pain, his world fading into blackness once again.

* * *

**...Something cool dabbing his face, hands roving his chest.**

_"Why isn't he wakin' up, Nathan? He's been out for over 24 hours!"_

_"Stop worryin', Chris, the man got__ a bullet in his shoulder; even if it went clean through, it's still a bullet wound. He'll wake up when he's good and ready. Now stop your pacin', you're makin' Ezra nervous."_

Vin stirred fitfully as voices drifted into his sleepy brain. He had been sleeping so peacefully; what was there problem, being so noisy and trying to wake him up?

**Silence, then a flurry of movement and sound.**

_"Nathan? I think he just moved."_

**Rustling, hands touching his face.**

Vin turned his head, trying to mumble out a word of protest. How rude of them; didn't they understand that a man needed his rest?

_"He definitely moved! Ezra, pass me that bowl, and give that stack of towels to Nathan!"_

**Something cool on his forehead, a light tapping on his cheek.**

_"Come on, Vin, time to get up; you wouldn't want Chris to aim his death-glare at you, would you?" _

**A snort. **_"Good one, doc; that's gonna make him want to get up in a jiffy."_

_"You underestimate the power o' that glare o' yours, Larabee."_

He was waking up a bit more now, his thoughts beginning to rearrange themselves and help him put names to the sounds and voices surrounding him.

"-Come on, Vin, you need to get up now; open those bright blue eyes for us."

He tried to scowl, but really couldn't muster up the energy. Why on _Earth_ wouldn't they just leave him alone?

"Tanner, stop being a Goddamn lazy ass and open your eyes!"

Finally recognizing the voice as Chris's, he struggled to open his eyes, finally managing to lift his lids marginally, allowing a slit of light to pierce painfully through them. He shut his eyes again immediately.

An annoyed sigh drifted towards him. "It'll get better once you've opened your eyes for a bit, now would you just hurry up and open them?"

"Your impatience isn't helping anything, Chris," Nathan's chastising voice spoke.

Vin made another effort to open his eyes, and this time managed to open them a bit further. Squinting painfully against the sudden brightness, he tried to make sense of the blurry forms surrounding him. As his vision cleared, he managed to utter one muffled sentence.

"Wha'... ha'ppin?"

* * *

Ezra gazed uncertainly at Vin as Nathan helped him to sit up and drink a bit of water.

The past two days had been filled with fear, uncertainty, anger and pain; so many things had happened since Mr. Tanner had taken a bullet for him (for there was no mistaking that the bullet had been meant for him). So many things, most of which he was still trying to come to terms with.

_**(Flashback:)**_

_**

* * *

**Ezra stared in shock at the man who had just put himself in the way of a bullet to protect him. Dimly, he felt himself being pulled from under the man's unresponsive body, his mind only registering the thought that someone had gotten themselves hurt to protect __**him**__--someone who had just rescued him from his tormenter, someone who didn't even know his name._

_"Kid... hey, KID!" _

_The loud voice startled him temporarily out of his shock. Looking up, he saw a blond-haired man trying to get his attention. _

_"Kid... what's your name?"_

_Still in shock, he unthinkingly blurted out his real name. "Ezra Standish, sir."_

_"Right, Ezra... there's a clinic down the road called 'Mather's Infirmary', you know it?"_

_Ezra nodded blankly. Yes, he'd seen it on his way in._

_"Well, there should be a man there named Nathan Jackson; I want you to bring him here. Tell him that Tanner was shot."_

_Ezra nodded again, but didn't move. His savior was lying there, so still... so like the dead._

_"What are you waiting for? Get! He's bleeding heavily, and we might not have much time. GO!"_

_His shout, and the hand that pushed against his bruised shoulder, was enough to get Ezra moving. Shakily, he rose from his kneeling position and stumbled blindly in the direction his subconscious remembered the clinic to be situated. He was beyond normal thinking by now._

_Upon reaching the clinic, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste, he ran to the door and banged on it frantically._

_The door opened a minute later, and a tall black man stood in front of him, his eyebrows raised in alarm, asking a question he couldn't seem to hear. Only later would he imagine how he must have appeared: blood covering a majority of his clothes, hair windswept from his run, gasping for breath and eyes wide with horror and shock._

_"Is Mista' Jackson hea'? Ah need to get Mista' Jackson! He needs to come right away! Mista' Tanner has been shot!" He gasped out incoherently. The man seemed to understand him anyhow, his head snapping upwards and scanning the street. On apparently not finding what he was looking for, he stared back down at Ezra intently, his mouth uttering words that he still couldn't seem to hear from the ringing in his ears. _

_On seeing Ezra's incomprehension, he lowered himself to Ezra's level and grabbed his shoulders, mouthing words that Ezra was only now able to understand. _

_"__**Where?**__"_

_He pointed a shaky hand in the direction he had come from, and the man abandoned him, running in the direction he had pointed. Ezra, having accomplished his mission, sank to the ground, covering his face with his hands, thoughts and questions spinning wildly through his head._

_He didn't know how long he sat there before a sudden rush of movement disturbed his shocked wonderings. A hand pulled him off the ground and ushered him inside as he watched the blond man and the black man place the still form of—Tanner?--onto a bed. _

_Suddenly, for no apparent reason, hearing and life were returned to him in a rush of voices and sound. Someone was talking to him. Ezra looked up at the man who seemed have been trying to get his attention._

_"-alright son?"_

_He blinked, then nodded yes. The man didn't seem so sure, checking under his shirt and gently probing his body to search for injuries. When the man got to the shoulder that had been held so tightly, he released a small gasp of pain. The man--the doctor?--immediately pulled his shirt off, tsking gently at the damage. He wondered why this man wasn't helping Mister Tanner; wasn't a bullet wound more important than a simple bruise?_

_He said as much, and the doctor gently told him that Mister Jackson was an accomplished healer, and that he trusted him to take care of Mister Tanner. _

_Though he seemed to be able to hear again, it appeared that coherent thinking had yet to return. He simply blinked again, leaving the doctor to finish his examinations as he put salve on his shoulder and cleaned up the cuts and scrapes Ezra had acquired from his fall._

_"There you go now, good as new. How about we step out for a bit and leave Nath-Mister Jackson, to his ministrations?"_

_Though still rather out of it, Ezra was able to understand THAT sentence well enough, and he shook his head frantically, moving away from the doctor's reaching hands. The doctor tried to grab hold of him, but he was too quick for him. With a sigh, the doctor gave up, instead ordering him to be quiet and not disturb Mister Jackson as he worked on the injured man. Ezra agreed quickly, and finding a chair and sitting in it heavily, he watched with despair as the doctor moved forward to help work a miracle._

_This was his fault. It was __**always**__ his fault._

_

* * *

__Ezra was roused by the feeling of someone shaking him. Blinking back sleep, it took him a moment to remember where he was and WHY he was there. With that realization, he shot up and ran over to the bed, coming to a halt a few feet from where the sleeping form rested._

_"Is he... will he... will he be alrigh'?" He asked, fear coloring his tone._

_Mr. Jackson, the one who had woken him, answered with a hint of a smile. "He's goin' to be fine; the bullet missed any bones or vital arteries, and he should make'a full recovery. IF he stays in bed long enough to let his body recover." This was said more quietly and with a hint of annoyance, as if such a thing were likely to happen--as if it were a common occurrence._

_Ezra, however, had stopped listening after the, "He will be fine." Staring at the sleeping man--not daring to hope, but wishing that he could allow himself the luxury--he hesitantly asked, "Are you certain?" There had been so much blood..._

_As hard as he tried, a bit of hope leaked into his voice. Mister Jackson smiled a full smile this time, resting a gentle hand on his head. "He'll be jus' fine; before any of us know it, he'll be back to his normal, stubborn self." As he said it, Mister Jackson shot an accusing glare in the silent blond man's direction, as if he was the cause of that stubbornness. It occurred to Ezra, then, that he didn't know the full names of any of these men._

_"Excuse me, but... ah don't think ah caught yore names?" This came out as a question. Maybe they had given him their names, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember. Everything had been such a blur…_

_"Ah, sorry about that. My name's Nathan Jackson, and that man over there-" he jerked his head in the blond man's direction, "-he's Chris Larabee. Sorry, I don't think I caught your name either."_

_Ezra was about to spout off one of the names that he and his mother frequently used when running a con, but he caught himself just in time when he remembered that he'd already given Mister Larabee his real name. Ezra failed to stifle a grimace at his failure to uphold his training. _

_Mister Jackson, mistaking his grimace as one of pain, immediately looked concerned, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. "Are you in pain?"_

_Ezra shook his head, saying, "Ah'm fine, sir. And mah name is Ezra Standish. Pleasure to make yore acquaintance, Mista' Jackson, Mista' Larabee," before holding out a hand to shake. At least his manners hadn't decided to abandon him._

_Mister Jackson looked faintly amused as he reached out his hand to shake Ezra's. "Pleasure to meet you too, Ezra. Call me Nathan, please. Sorry we couldn've met under better circumstances."_

_Ezra could only nod, never agreeing with anyone more in his life._

_

* * *

__**(End Flashback)**_

That had been a bit of a while ago, and now that Mister Tanner was awake...

He was having mixed feelings about his waking: relief, because he had finally woken; uncertainty, because now they would have to decide what to do with him; and fear, because now the questions could-and _would_-begin.

"Ezra, you up to eatin'?" Mist-_Nathan_ called out. He was feeling a bit hungry, but he didn't want to distract M-_NATHAN _from Mister Tanner, so he shook his head.

"Who-whos' Ezra?" A quiet voice rasped out. Ezra whipped his head towards the bed as Nathan quietly said, "Don't try talkin' yet, you'll just exhaust yourself."

"_Ezra_ is the boy you jumped in front of a bullet for," Mister Larabee's quiet voice answered sharply, a hint of reproach in his words. The man was so quiet that Ezra had almost forgotten he was present.

Ezra, upon hearing this, lowered his head slightly in guilt. Suddenly aware that his emotions were showing blatantly on his face, he quickly brushed his feelings aside and put on a politely bored look. Subtly glancing around, he was relieved to see that no one appeared to notice his slip.

Inexplicably, Ezra felt anger well up inside him. So what if Tanner had gotten shot? It was his fault for jumping in front of the Goddamn bullet; if he'd just moved aside one inch, the bullet would have hit _his_ head instead... and Ezra would have been happily put out of his miserable existence.

Seeing that Nathan and Mister Larabee were occupied with Vin, Ezra took their distraction as an opportunity to get out of there. Slipping quietly out of his seat, keeping a close eye on the trio all the while, he silently cracked the door open and slid out into the hall. Casting one last look at the door over his shoulder, Ezra couldn't suppress a twinge of something--disappointment? Yes, disappointment; somehow, he had thought that this might be a chance for him to start over--a chance for him be rid of his captor once and for all, and start out anew. However, now that Mister Tanner had gotten shot...

With a shake of his head, Ezra slipped down the stairs and out the clinic, hoisting his belongings over his shoulder. So much for that. He should have known better than to think anything good could ever happen to him. Not anymore. It was time for him to finally get out of this town and move on to greener--and safer--pastures.

* * *

"Wasn' his faul'," Vin said, his voice getting clearer the more he talked. Using his elbows to push himself up, he winced as the movement tugged at his shoulder. Nathan was immediately at his side, pushing him back onto the bed, scolding him gently for moving.

"You'll tear the stiches, Vin. Try to stay still."

"How long did ya say I was out fer?" He asked, trying to recall what exactly had happened.

"Only for a day or so," Nathan answered, turning to pick up a bundle of bandages from a side table. "You must've hit your head when you fell, 'cause you were out a bit longer than I thought you would be. Not to worry, though; from what I can tell, there should be no lasting damage."

"Well, tha's encouragin'," Vin grunted, trying once again to sit up. Nathan and Chris were again immediately at his side, Nathan scolding him again irritably, while Chris pierced him down with a glare. Vin huffed indignantly. Who did they think he was, a child?

"Quit tryin' to sit up, Vin, for _God's_ sake; you're gonna rip the stitches!"

"No need to take the Lord's name in vain, Doc. Vin--quit your movin'." This was followed by another warning glare.

Suitably subdued, Vin lay his head back on the pillows and fell into a healthy sulk. He'd already been in bed for more than a day; shouldn't he have healed by now?

Happening to glance towards the door, Vin realized that their mystery boy was no longer present.

"Chris... Where'd Ezra go? Thought ya said he was here."

Glancing behind him, Chris let out a curse. Ignoring Nathan's disapproving, "What happened to not taking the Lord's name in vain?" he grabbed his gun belt from where he'd hung it on the back of a chair, looking to where he had last seen the kid. Sure enough, the boy's bag and jacket were gone. Chris looked once more around the clinic for the errant young Southerner, coming up empty.

"Shoot! Nathan, he's gone! He probably tried to run, God knows why. When I find him, I swear I'm gonna wear him out!"

Nathan closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. Turning to wash his hands in a basin, he made an attempt to grab his belt as well, but Chris intercepted him.

"No, I'll go after him. You stay here and guard Vin; we still don't know if that man'll come back to finish what he started."

Nathan nodded, pulling out his gun and checking it for bullets. Chris grabbed his duster and hat and swooped out the door without another word, his whole body tense with anger and frustration.

"Sure it's a good idea ta let him go after the kid himself? Might let his temper git the better of'm," Vin said murmured quietly, glancing up at Nathan.

"Probably not," Nathan answered with a sigh. Shutting the bullet chamber with snap, he sat pulled a chair forward and sat down, resting the gun on his lap. "But he has a point; we can't know if that man'll come back to get you. Hopefully, Chris'll get the boy and bring him back here before he gets himself hurt."

* * *

Checking over his shoulder, Ezra carefully slid open the back door to the livery and slipped inside. A faint smell of hay and horse manure permeated from the many stalls lining both sides of the building. Wrinkling his nose, Ezra walked towards the stalls, looking through each one for a suitable horse for him to ride. Though he felt a twinge of guilt at the fact that he was about to steal one of them, he brushed it aside, reassuring himself with the fact that he would be leaving a suitable amount of monetary compensation for the owner to find.

Ezra was beginning to get disappointed; he had gone through almost all the stalls, and he had yet to find a horse small enough for him to comfortably and safely ride. As he came upon one of the last stalls, he caught sight of the horse inside.

A small Paint stood inside the stall. White with black and reddish-brown patches, this horse was smaller than the typical Paint. With intelligent eyes, and a gentle yet mischievous air about him, Ezra was instantly in love. Casting a cautious glance around him, he lifted the hatch on the stall and slowly entered it, closing the hatch behind him.

"Well, aren't you just a beautiful one," he whispered gently, sticking his hand into his coat pocket and rummaging around. The horse--a mare, from the looks of it--whinnied with interest. Finding what he was looking for, Ezra pulled out a small piece of candy. Holding it out in front of him, he made soothing noises as he neared the horse. The Paint, upon catching a whiff of the sweet, stuck her nose out eagerly. Still muttering soothingly, Ezra gently maneuvered his hand to the horses side and began to stroke it.

"Now, just you wait a moment; you'll get this as soon as ah can find a saddle fore you."

The Paint gave no indication that she had heard, craning her neck to try to reach the sweet enclosed in Ezra's hand. Looking around the stall, Ezra saw a saddle mounted on the wall. Hoisting it down, he carefully moved it towards the horse. Sticking his hand out, he finally gave the Paint her promised treat. The horsed gobbled it up happily, not even noticing when Ezra gently placed the saddle on her back, adjusting the saddle and tightening to the cinch. Letting out a silent breath of relief, Ezra patted the horse's nose as she nudged his pockets, searching for more of the tasty treat. Ezra let out an involuntary chuckle.

"Ah think you need a name, my dea' lady. A magnificent beast like yoreself deserves the finest of titles." He thought for a moment, before coming to a quick decision. "How does Hespera sound to you? The ancient Greek Goddess of the Dusk; a fitting name, seeing as much of mah life seems to be shadowed by darkness. Do you think it a worthy name fore a stately equine such as yoreself?"

Hespera's only answer was to whinny and nudge Ezra's pockets harder.

Ezra simply sighed and patted her nose again. It was getting dark, and he needed to leave before anyone noticed his absence. Pulling up an old crate, he stood on it and attempted to mount.

"_Going_ somewhere?"

* * *

_A/N: Awww, I do SO love cliffhangers, when I'm writing them, anyway! -Beams smugly- Don't worry, I'll try to post the next one a bit faster next time. -_ **Achillies**

**_Next Up: _**_Vin cons Nathan, Laurence bites his nails, and Ezra finds out who's law. _


	6. Run Away, or Die Trying? II

_A/N: In former chapters, I had Chris referring to Laurence as 'White', while I had Vin referring to him as 'Laurence'. Depending on whose POV it is, they may think of him as 'Mr. White', 'White' or Laurence, but I will refer to him normally as Laurence. Hope that doesn't confuse anyone. Sorry for the long wait! Time no longer exists when it comes to my internet time. On top of that, these characters really seem to revel in constantly messing up my plot...  
_

_Disclaimer: Laurence is most assuredly mine. Hespera is also mine. All others are, unfortunately, not mine. Weep with me! -Weeps-  
_

* * *

**_Run Away, or Die Trying? _**_(Part Two)_

Laurence stood in front of door to room 34, a room he had pegged 'the Terror room', wringing his hands nervously.

He had come very close to actually fainting when the two men had come barging through his doors carrying the limp body of Mr. Tanner in their arms. The nightmare that followed would have put any normal man into a coma.

Blood on the floor, bloody towels all over the place, constant amounts of water to boil, frantic, ornery and bothersome people... OH the horror!

Mr. Warbeck had personally asked him to be available to help out with anything they might need, however, so running off and hiding somewhere wasn't an option. How disappointing.

Swallowing, he cautiously knocked on the door, hoping desperately that no one would answer. No such luck for the unlucky Laurence.

* * *

"Yes?" Nathan asked, opening the door a slit. Seeing Laurence, he opened the door fully, nodding to him politely. Mr. White had been a decent enough help with caring for Vin, so the least he could do was be polite.

He noted that the young man was wringing his hands, and he stifled a chuckle. He had seen the way White reacted around Chris and Vin, and he suspected that they had done something to frighten him.

Although, Nathan thought, stifling another chuckle, just bein' themselves is enough to frighten anyone.

"I was... wondering how Mr. Tanner is doing?" Laurence answered hesitantly, nervously shuffling inside, his eyes darting about the room.

"He's doin' much better, thank you," Nathan replied. "Go ahead and ask him yourself; he should be up to talking."

"Ah, that's all right, I'll-I'll just be heading back down now. I just wanted to check," White said quickly, beginning to back up towards the door. He stopped upon reaching it and looked back at Nathan reluctantly.

"Is there anything you'd like me to do for you?"

"Could ya git someone ta git our horses ready fer us? We'd like ta git goin' soon," Vin spoke up from where he lay on the bed in the corner.

White jumped visibly, flapping his mouth stupidly for a few moments before stuttering out a quick, "Oh, of course." He stood there for a few more moments, seemingly in shock, before he quickly darted out the door.

"Goin'? Vin, you ain't no where near healed enough to be goin' _anywhere_! It's only been a day, and you need at least a week before you can ride on a horse without tearing those stitches!"

"I ain't gonna stay in bed a day longer, Nathan; if ya don't wanna come with me, tha's yer choice, but I aim ta git back ta Four Corners as soon as possible," Vin said determinedly, making an effort to get out of bed.

Nathan hurried to his side, protesting heatedly as he tried to push him back down. Vin shook off the hand he placed on his shoulder, and tried again to stand.

"All right, all right! I can see that you ain't gonna let this go, so I'll agree to let you ride if you promise to stay in bed at least until tomorrow! I don't expect that one night will do much, but at least it'll keep you from ruining those stitches for a bit longer."

Vin hid a smirk of satisfaction, allowing Nathan to help him lie back down. THAT was how you got your way with Nathan—sometimes, being thickheaded had its benefits.

* * *

Ezra would have fallen off the stack of hay in shock had a hand not reached out the steady him. He glanced up automatically, and came face to face with a stoic Mister Larabee. Ezra winced. So much for escaping without being noticed.

"You all right?" The intimidating man asked as he set him on the ground, sounding surprisingly gentle for someone so frightening looking.

"Yes, ah... Ah am fine," Ezra stuttered, failing miserably at sounding calm and collected. This whole idea of running away was going to Hell very quickly.

Larabee pulled Ezra towards him and grabbed a hold of his chin, tilting his head to stare directly into his eyes.

"I don't like having to go looking for runaway little boys who desperately need to get their tails set on fire--it makes me irritated. You do that again, you're going to be a very sorry little boy," Larabee said sternly, his eyes boring into Ezra's. Ezra swallowed involuntarily; trying to escape again wasn't even an option anymore, if getting glared to death would be his only reward.

"Ah... see," was all he managed to get out.

Apparently that was enough for Larabee, because he nodded and let go, placing his other hand on Ezra's shoulder. Ezra winced again, in pain this time. The shoulder he had grabbed was the bruised one, and even though to doctor had put some salve on it, it was still a bit sore to the touch.

"I thought you said you weren't hurt!" Larabee's tone changed instantly from one of sternness to concern as he squatted down to Ezra's height. Ezra couldn't help blinking at the sudden change.

"Mah shoulder is bruised from the... other day, Mista' Larabee," Ezra said, flinching as Larabee prodded the bruises on his shoulder.

"Chris."

"...Excuse me?" Ezra asked, bewildered. What did 'Chris' have to do with anything?

"Call me Chris," the man repeated, carefully pushing the collar of Ezra's shirt back into place and standing up briskly from his squatting position. "None of this 'Mr. Larabee' business. Haven't been a 'Mister' in years."

Ezra nodded slowly. An adult actually asking him to call them by their first name? Well, Mister Jack-Nathan had already done that, but he was... different. Today was certainly a day filled with new and strange things.

"Come on, then; let's get back to the clinic. I'm sure Nathan's getting worried by now," Chris said, placing a hand on his other shoulder this time, and steering him towards the livery door. "I think you owe him an apology. You made him worried, not that he'd ever admit it. Worried me, too."

Ezra looked up in surprise at that admission. Adults worried about him too now?? What was the world coming to?

In a bit of a daze, he followed Mis-Chris out of the livery, glancing back regretfully at Hespera one last time.

* * *

Chris actually stepped back in surprise at the sight that met them upon exiting the livery. Vin, limping visibly and looking as if he were about to collapse, was trying to carry his saddle bags on his own while Nathan tried to balance his and Chris's, all the while trying to get Vin to give him his. A harried looking Laurence was scurrying after them, holding what looked to be provisions for their return journey.

"What in Hell do you think you're doing??" Chris bellowed, almost making Vin drop his burden in surprise. He and Nathan stopped and looked up simultaneously, leading Laurence to bump into them and land them all on the ground in pile of flailing limbs.

Chris sighed in irritation, putting a hand over his eyes in a long suffering way. He heard a muffled giggle, and glanced down at his little companion. Ezra had a hand clamped over his mouth, his body shaking and his eyes dancing with mirth. The sight made an involuntary smile cross Chris's lips. He suppressed it quickly and looked back up at his two _children_ with a scowl.

"Vin, I distinctly remember telling you to stay in bed, and Nathan, what were you thinking, letting him walk around??"

While Nathan was starting to look sincerely guilty, Vin appeared completely nonplussed, though he had a grimace on his face, no doubt from banging his shoulder during their fall.

Still looking completely unconcerned by Chris's frightening glare, he tried to push past Chris and into the stable. Quick as lightning, Chris snatched his arm and pulled him sideways, forcing Vin to look at him.

"What are you doing??? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Le'me go, Chris, I don' have ta answer to ya," Vin said irritably, trying to pull his arm from Chris's tight grip.

"As long as you ride with me, you _will_ answer to me, and I'm not gonna let you go 'til you tell me just what you think you're doin'!"

Vin rolled his eyes and uttered a long suffering sigh. Matching Chris's glare, he said sarcastically, "Jist goin' for a stroll, Chris; what do you think I'm doin?"

Chris ground his teeth in irritation. Sometimes, Vin could be such a child.

Nathan, sensing the rise in tension, quickly cut in. "Vin wants to get back, Chris; I told him that if he took it easy, then he should be fine for the trip home. As long as he doesn't ride for long periods, he should be able to keep from tearing the stitches."

Chris narrowed his eyes even further. "Which basically means that Vin bullied you into giving him a clean bill of health." It wasn't a question.

If Nathan were white, his face would have been a bright pink. As it was, his cheeks only colored slightly. "Well, he-well, all right, he did, but I do think that he can make the trip back as long as he doesn't overexert himself."

Vin lifted his chin a notch and stared at Chris defiantly. Chris let his breath out in a loud whoosh before he reluctantly let go of Vin, staring at his departing back in frustration.

"Thanks for the support, Nathan," Chris growled. At the sound of quiet laughter, he spun around, finally remembering that another member had been added to their team. Pulling a light smile onto his face, he placed a hand on Ezra's shoulder--taking care not to touch to bruised one--and guided him into the livery.

"White, bring those bags over here," Chris called out, not bothering to look behind him as Laurence hastened to obey.

* * *

Vin tried to lift the saddle in order to place it on his horse, but found that it caused him a bit too much pain for comfort. As he glanced around, trying to find some other way to lift it, he jerked his head up in surprised when it was taken out of his hands. When he found Chris staring back at him, his face in a stoic mask, Vin had to fight a blush of embarrassment, awkwardness and a hint of shame. He'd been rather surprised at his own vehemence towards Chris's concern for his well being; though not one to be riled up so easily, once angry, he went all out. Being injured seemed to have that affect on his temper.

He caught Chris's eye and tried to convey his apology. From the way Chris's features softened and the way his mouth curved upward into a half-smile, all was forgiven and forgotten. Vin nodded in gratitude, thankful to be on good terms with Chris again.

"We need to figure out how we're gonna bring Ezra with us," Chris spoke a moment later, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over them.

Vin raised an eyebrow in question. "Whaddya' mean?"

"You're injured, so he can't ride with you," Chris began, "and Nathan and I are going to have to carry the supplies to make it easier for you. Having to carry another person on top of extra supplies would be too much for the horses. While we could have one of us carry the supplies and the other ride with Ezra, I think it would just be much simpler if we could get him his own horse."

Vin nodded slowly. Horses were expensive, and while they could probably afford it if they all pitched in, finding a child-sized horse wouldn't be easy. In a town like this, it was unlikely they would find any available ponys.

"There was a small Paint I saw him admiring," Chris admitted. "If I can find the owner, I think it would be just perfect for him."

Vin tilted his head thoughtfully at the undefined emotion he sensed in that sentence. Was Chris getting fatherly feelings towards their little runaway? And he had been the one who wanted to 'stay out of it' in the first place...

Stifling a grin, Vin nodded sagely in agreement. "If ya think it would be, we should ask Laurie if he knows whose horse it is."

Chris nodded back absently, giving Peso a pat as he walked out of the stall. Peso whinnied indignantly, bringing his head around to bump his nose against Chris's retreating back. Chris jolted forward, tripped over a discarded block of wood, knocked into White and landed them both on the floor in an undignified heap, sending their belongings flying. Vin snorted, patting a smug Peso in admiration at the mayhem he had caused. He walked over to the struggling pair as they tried to untangle themselves and posed a question at Laurence.

"Hey Laurie, ya know who that horse b'longs to?" Vin asked, nodding his head in the small Paint's direction. Laurence managed to stand up, staggering slightly as the blood returned to his head.

"Ah... what?" Vin was getting a strange sense of deja-vou.

"The horse. That one," Vin repeated slowly, pointing at the Paint.

"Oh. That one." Laurence blinked at it uncomprehendingly before he seemed to realize what he was staring at. "Oh, _that_ one. That horse belongs to me. I received her from a friend of mine. Rather small, truthfully, but quite gentle and an excellent companion. Why do you ask?"

Vin exchanged a glance with a newly standing Chris. He could see it dawning on Laurence just where this was going.

"Oh no! No, no, no, no, no! I will not give you my horse! You've already managed to swindle that Tapestry from the hotel on my watch (which is going to bring me _so_ much grief), tear apart my wonderfully organized life, make a complete nuisance of yourselves and order me around like a chambermaid. I will NOT let you take my horse from me as well! No--no I will not!"

This entire speech was uttered in a half screech, the type of screech that can only come from one who is at the end of his rope. Chris cast a questioning glance in Vin's direction before shifting his gaze back to Laurence with a look of concern.

"We would only be borrowing it for a day or two at the mos-"

"No! I said no, and that's final!" This was said in a now breathless screech, as if his voice and his courage had finally given up on him. "I have my rights! I will not have you come into home and tear it apart! I will not have you take my belongings from me and-"

Vin could see that Laurence was only moments away from giving into his frustration, fear and exhaustion from the past few days that had been building up towards a complete breakdown. Vin hoped it wouldn't have to come to that, but he sincerely doubted it could go down any other way.

"Laurie... We'll take real good care of'm--of'er. And we'll be sure ta return her to ya safely. There's nothin' ta worry 'bout. 'fore ya know it, we'll be gone and you'll have yer horse back with ya safe and sound."

Laurence's face was twisted in a mixture frustration, despair, anxiety, anger and nervousness. It was a rather alarming sight. Vin caught the eyes of the hitherto-forgotten Ezra and saw the look of bemusement with a touch of fear on his face. Narrowing his eyes marginally, he jerked his head at Chris, using his eyes to explain what he wanted. Chris nodded almost imperceptibly.

Turning to the still blabbering Laurence, Chris reached for his shoulders and shook him lightly, staring into his wild-looking eyes. "Hey, snap out of it now," He said, an almost gentle note in his voice. Laurence stopped talking mid sentence, took a deep breath and visibly tried to calm himself down. Chris nodded encouragingly, patting him on the back in understanding. Hell, if he'd had to be stuck with himself for more than a day or two at a time, he would be ready to eat a bullet. Add a Vin to the mix... Hell would seem like Paradise.

* * *

"We would really appreciate it if ya would lend her ta us," Vin cut in gently, stepping a bit closer. Laurence was still shaking a bit, obviously not completely in control of himself, but in control enough that he was beginning to look a tad embarrassed.

"I really don't know what came over me," Laurence said, his cheeks coloring a light shade of pink. "I apologize; I've had a... bit of a stressful week." This was said with a sheepish smile. Vin hid a smirk; no doubt they had been the cause of his stressful week.

"'is fine," Vin said, "I reckin' we kin be a bit overwhelmin' at'times." He tossed a smirk in Chris's direction as he said it, getting an answering smirk in return.

"So... can we?" Chris asked with a raised eyebrow.

Laurence pulled his face into a grimace. Running a hand through his hair, mussing it up even further, he let out a resigned sigh.

"Fine, take her, take her, just... PLEASE take good care of her! She was a present, and I've grown rather fond of her."

"You have our word."

* * *

_**In a dark room, by a shuttered window overlooking the street**_

_He may have gotten away this time... but there will certainly be no 'next time'._

"Sir? Everythin's in order. Should we go after'm?"

"Follow from a distance. Do not let them see you. When the opportunity arises, attack them and capture the boy and bring him back to me_. Alive_." _Though he won't be alive for long, once I'm done with him._

"Right away, sir."

"And kill the others, if you can; they have disrupted my plans, and I can't have them doing so again."

"Yessir, my pleasure, sir!"

* * *

_A/N: Oooooh, bad guys abound!! -Cackles evilly- Don't worry, I won't be injuring any of them... too much. -Cackles again-  
So sorry this has taken so long! Writer's block has taken a vicious hold of me for the past... three weeks?? -Cringes- Not good. Hope this chapter made it worth the wait! The story should be moving along a bit faster after this._

**Coming Soon: **_The boys are attacked, Vin gets more hurtssed, and Ezra finds out that Four Corners is... well, a very _interesting_ town._


	7. When It Rains

_A/N: Been WAY too long since I last posted a chapter, I know. Sorry! While this is rather short, I will be continuing with it in the next chapter, whenever I can manage to get that up. When my muse stops being a stubborn little shite, you will have more._

_Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven belong to their creators, unfortunately enough. I only own Hespera the Horse and Cavey the Sad, Wet Cave. (I know I know, I could have come up with something better, but why bother?)_

* * *

__

**When It Rains...**

Split. Splot. Splatter.

Ezra blinked and looked up at the sky. Water? Had that been his imagination, or--no, there it was again.

_Split. Splot._

_Rain? _Ezra moaned silently. _Good Law'rd, what next? _

He glared gloomily at Hespera's head as she plodded cheerfully across the dried up ground. They had only been traveling for a few hours and already Ezra was sore and achy, wishing he could just let himself collapse on the ground and curl up into a ball. He had been quite content to embark on this journey if it meant that he could ride Hespera, but he was now beginning to wish that they had never left that wretched town.

And on top of all that... it was _raining?_

_Split. Splot splot, splatter splatter. __**Sploosh.**_

Much like the way a child will move from teary-eyed melancholy to outright sobbing, the rain was a mere sprinkle one moment and a frightful downpour the next. He could faintly hear the sound of Chris swearing from somewhere near his right and saw, through a thick curtain of rain, the outline of Vin and Nathan's horses to his left.

He tried to squint through the watery haze, wondering if they would be stopping until the rain lifted. As he felt Hespera come to a stop beneath him (for she had taken a liking to Chris's horse and felt to need to copy his every move), he gathered that they would be stopping after all.

A few minutes later, huddled tightly against Vin to preserve warmth, Ezra watched with detached amusement as Chris paced restlessly about the hidden alcove they had stumbled upon, glaring at its walls as if they were the cause of all his problems. Ezra was just thankful they had found the damn place, especially since it meant they would be out of the wretched rain for the time being.

The alcove--which was really a small cave--had a rather wide entrance, but narrowed sharply towards the end of it where there appeared to be a path leading through the inside of the mountain. When Chris caught him peering into the darkness, Ezra and the others had been explicitly ordered not to go off exploring.

"You might get lost," Chris had lectured tersely. "Or worse, trip down some hidden canyon and get yourself killed, and that's the last thing we need right now."

Ezra had been sure to stay away from it after that.

Nathan was now attempting to start a fire while Vin sat sullenly where Chris had ordered him to sit. All of his attempts at helping had been rebuffed, and he was now sitting and glaring a hole into the ground. With the unhappy emotions flying around the small enclave, Ezra felt a sudden urge to scrunch up into a defensive ball lest the irritation and fear overwhelm him.

Brushing that feeling aside, he gently scooted out from under a lightly dozing Vin and moved silently towards Hespera, whispering soothingly to her as he stroked her back. She huffed and skittered nervously, but eventually calmed down under Ezra's calm ministrations.

He stayed by her side for a moment more, not wanting to go back and sit down, but having nothing left to do. Something about being stuck in a cave with the rain beating a steady staccato onto its sides made one very restless. Still, he wasn't quite in the mood for human company right now. Having a bit of 'bonding' time with his new friend couldn't hurt.

Ezra jerked sideways in shock when Nathan's voice suddenly boomed through the dimly-lit cavern. It took some effort, but he managed to keep Hespera from panicking.

_We're going to drive each otha' mad if we don't get out of here soon, _he thought in exasperation.

* * *

"Quit your pacing, Chris, for God's sake! Pacing and glaring at the walls ain't gonna make the rain stop any faster!"

Chris didn't alter his pace, even as Nathan's exasperated voice cut through his silent fuming. "Well, it sure makes me feel a Hell of'a lot better!"

Nathan calmly retorted that he certainly wasn't having a calming effect on Ezra, so now _would_ probably be a good time to stop.

Ezra, who had tired of standing and gone back to sit by the fire, shook his head in disagreement, nowhere near eager to be involved in a fight. "Ah'm fine, please don't stop your... ruminations on mah account."

Nathan sighed as the taut figure continued without any sign of having heard Ezra's polite decree. He contemplated the possibility of them getting out before dark, but concluded that that was highly unlikely. This type of rain was sure to continue for a two or three days at worst, maybe half a day if they were lucky. Any more than half a day and they were likely to kill each other off. Good thing Vin was still asleep.

Seeing Ezra begin to shift restlessly from his new seat by the fire, Nathan decided to give him something to do lest he get too bored and get into any mischief.

"Here, Ezra, would you mind placing this pot outside where it can gather rain? I reckon the rain water should be good enough to drink."

Ezra nodded obediently and walked hesitantly to the edge of the cave. Putting the pot outside as far as he could reach without getting out from under the cave's protective covering, he stopped for a moment and simply stared out at the falling rain.

The rain may have lightened a bit, but it was close to impossible to tell. Though it was only around one o'clock in the afternoon, the clouds and the rain made it seem much later, and even if the sun had been out, you wouldn't be able to see anything through the rain. He stifled the sudden urge to shiver; for a moment, it had felt like someone was watching him. He squinted, hoping to catch some sign of movement, but the rain continued to fall in heavy sheets, hindering his ability to see. He brushed the feeling aside uneasily, acknowledging that even if there had been something, there was nothing he could do about it right now.

Blowing out the air in his cheeks gustily, Ezra turned back into the center of the alcove. Maybe Chris would agree to let him get out for a bit; he was starting to get cabin fever.

Opening his mouth to ask, Ezra was interrupted when Nathan spoke up. "Now that we don't have much else to do but wait for the rain to stop, how about you tell us where you're from, and who that man was? You told us that your parents are dead, but you never did tell us why that man's after you, or where you used to live."

That question did stop Chris in his tracks. He moved back towards the fire and stared down at Ezra piercingly.

"Well?" He asked when Ezra didn't immediately answer. "He asked you a question."

Ezra withheld a wince. Could they have waited a BIT longer?? He still needed to come up with a good enough lie.

Deciding that what he had would have to be good enough, Ezra opened his mouth to spout off a story designed to instil pity (something his mother had trained him in expertly), when he happened to glance at Chris's face. His mouth shut automatically with a click. Something about his face just then seemed to warm him about the dire consequences of lying.

Ezra swallowed, a trickle of sweat beginning to slide down his face. This was not good; _definitely_ not good.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry this chapter is so short. My muse has been dead for ages, so I figured I might as well get this out, even though it isn't much. I haven't spent as much time editing it, so if you see any major messups, DO forgive!  
_

_**A question for all of you**: should I delve more into the whole 'there's-a-little-road-that-leads-into-the-mountain' thing? I dunno, I just felt that that might go somewhere, but if ya'll prefer if the plot got moving a bit instead..._


	8. It's Raining Men With Guns!

_A/N: Sorry it took me so long to finish this chapter! I've been trying to get myself to finish it, but I only managed to today. -hides face- Thank you all for your reviews and your faithful reading! This could have been longer, but I wanted to post it. There may be flashbacks later about the 'battle scene' itself, but right now I wasn't quite in the mood to write in detail about 'mini-world war five'._

_This chapter hasn't been check over as carefully as the others, so please forgive any mistakes._

_**A/N: Thank you, Celesta SunStar, for pointing out to me that - what with Ezra being an itty bitty child now - there are no ' Seven'. About time I fixed that. :)**_

_Disclaimer: The horses are MINE, thanks. Except for Peso; he belongs to.... whichever fanfic write invented the name. I was too bored to think up another one. Dan, Jake and Johnny from Vin's story are entirely fanfictional. ;D Everything else belongs to the creators of Mag7._

_

* * *

**It's Raining Men With Guns! **  
_

Vin surreptitiously glanced at Ezra as he silently rode behind him. Peso snorted loudly and gave his head a shake; Vin absently patted his neck, still studying Ezra.

When Nathan and Chris had cornered him in the cave, Ezra erupted in what had seemed to be a panic attack. They had only been able to get the name of Vin's attacker--Raymond O'Brien--before he clamped up and refused to say another word, curling up near his horse and staring blankly at the ceiling. Nothing they had said or done had made him react, though Vin finally managed to get him to eat something after a good twenty minutes of pleading, threatening and begging.

Suffice it to say, they hadn't tried that again.

Now that they were back on the road, however, and with a good three hours behind them since Ezra's panicked retreat, Vin had been delegated the task of getting Ezra to talk. According to Chris, he was the best of the Six at enticing people to spill their guts, and if Nathan was to be believed, he was also the least threatening of the three of them and, therefore, the best candidate for the job.

Though the thought that none of them considered him threatening was rather insulting, he had to admit that he _was _quite good at subtle interrogation.

_'Sides, _Vin thought with another glance in Ezra's direction, _s'not like I have anythin' better ta do. I reckon it's 'bout time I got ta know the kid anyway._

He nudged his horse forward until he was beside Ezra, who was currently staring blankly at the back of his horse's head.

"Penny fer yer thoughts."

Ezra started and would have fallen off his horse if Vin hadn't grabbed his arm and steadied him. Ezra gave him a rather tight smile, his eyes still widened in surprise.

"Sorry 'bout that, didn' mean ta startle ya," Vin said.

Ezra nodded his understanding and went back to staring at Hespera's head. It seemed to take him a moment to realize that Vin had asked him a question.

"Ah'm sorry?"

"I said, penny fer yer thoughts."

Ezra blinked at him owlishly, a puzzled frown on his face. "What?"

Vin grinned in amusement. "Yer actin' like you've never heard the sayin' b'fore."

"Well, ah--ah haven't; not from what ah can recall."

Vin raised his eyebrows, rather taken aback. _How odd._ He tucked that away for future contemplation. "It basically means tha I'll give ya a penny if ya tell me what yer thinkin'."

"Oh." The small boy furrowed his brow for a moment before looking up at him cautiously. "Well, ah wasn't really thinking about anythin' in particular, ah guess. Mister Tannah'," he quickly corrected himself.

Vin noticed that he'd mostly stopped talking those big words of his. _'Bout time, too. Wonder if he's finally gettin' comfortable with us._ "Call me Vin."

Ezra, by now used to people asking him to call them by their first names, only nodded.

"Well, I was jist wonderin' something tha I want ta ask you 'bout." Vin studied his face, wondering if Ezra would clamp up again like the night before. "Why did ya react the way ya did last night, jist 'cause we were askin' ya some questions?"

Ezra face immediately closed up. Vin could tell that if Ezra could have his way, this would be the end of the conversation. But Vin was running this game, and he wasn't prepared to give up just yet.

"Ya don't have ta tell me anythin' ya don't want ta," Vin said gently. "If it makes ya uncomfortable, we don't have ta talk 'bout O'Brien, yer mom, or even where ya come from. I jist want ta get ta know ya, even jist a little bit."

Ezra looked uncomfortable, but he didn't seem as tense and closed off as he had a moment before, and Vin took that as a good sign. After a moments consideration, he exhaled tiredly and turned to look at Vin with reluctance.

"What would you like to know?"

* * *

Nathan smiled at the pair as they talked. Ezra looked relaxed, open and happy, a far cry from how he'd been since they'd he'd first run into them. He actually looked his age for once.

Nathan had asked Vin to talk to him because he had known how good Vin was with children, and coupled with the fact that he was a good interrogator, he had had every confidence in the man--enough confidence to bet on him against Chris Larabee and know he was going to win.

_Which I just have, _Nathan thought with a smirk.

"Quit your smirkin', doc; no need to be so smug about it," Chris grumbled as he handed him a five-dollar bill, annoyed at losing the bet.

"Your fault for betting on the losing side," Nathan shot back.

Chris just grunted and kicked his horse into a light trot. Nathan chuckled in amusement and spurred his horse after him. Chris had never really been a good loser. He'd been rather surprised when Chris had bet on Ezra and not Vin. He figured that Ezra had gotten to Chris more than even Chris realized.

He looked back at the chatting duo. They'd only been talking for about an hour, but they already looked they'd known each other for years.

_Almost like siblings, _Nathan thought absently as brought his attention back to the road. _Almost like brothers._

* * *

"-and she screamed so loud that the cheater jumped in surprise and tripped over a table, dropping all the cards he'd hidden unda' his sleeve!"

Ezra smiled in remembered satisfaction while Vin laughed loudly. It was almost surreal to be finally talking about his life to someone; he was usually so careful about keeping his past to himself. Something about Vin, though... something about him just made you want to talk and talk and spill all your well hidden secrets.

_He's just a good listener, ah guess, _Ezra thought, grinning back at Vin when he turned his way. _Whateva' the case, it _does_ feel good to talk freely without worry of speaking out of turn. _And Vin had yet to begin interrogating him. He'd asked a few questions in the beginning, but after that, he'd just let Ezra talk about whatever he felt like talking about. No pressure, no angles and no digging for information.

_Like ah said--well, thought; he's a good listener._

_

* * *

_

"You've had quite the life, Ez; more interestin' than mine, even. When'd ya first learn ta play cards? I bet you'd beat anyone of us without breakin' a sweat!" Vin was careful to speak carelessly, as if he had no motive for asking the question other than simple curiosity. It seemed to work, because Ezra answered back immediately and without censure or suspicion.

"Sometime afta' mah fourth birthday," Ezra said, adding a quick, "And don't call me Ez! Mah name is Ezra; EZ-RA!"

Vin smirked and reached out a hand to ruffle his hair. "Whatever ya say, Ez."

Ezra ducked and scowled at him good-naturedly. It had taken a bit of a while to get him to loosen up, but he had eventually become more open to questions and had started to provide information on his own. Vin still had to be careful to make it seem like he wasn't digging for information, but he seemed to be doing all right so far. And he had to admit, he quite enjoyed talking to the kid. Ezra was surprisingly intelligent and engaging for his age, and he had a sharp wit and a rather wry sense of humor. He hadn't had so much fun talking with someone in years.

Vin turned back slightly in his saddle to ask Ezra another question, when he happened to notice movement out of the corner of his eye. He immediately pulled Peso to a stop, carefully honed instincts from years of looking over his shoulder screaming at him that danger was near. He reached down and grabbed his eyeglass, peering out at the cloud of dust that was closing in on them rapidly

"Chris, we've got company!" He shouted, reaching down to pull his shotgun from where he'd attached it to the saddle. He turned Peso around in a full circle, facing the faint silhouettes of the approaching riders.

"Dammit, this can't be good! Can you see what they look like?" Chris asked as he pulled up beside him.

Vin shook his head. "Still too far off. From what I can tell, there's 'bout four of'm, maybe five. Anyone ridin' that fast and with tha number can't mean any good. O'Brien prob'ly decided ta send someone after us ta finish the job."

Chris sighed in exasperation and pinched the bridge of his nose. Could things _really_ get any worse than this?

"Perfect, just what we need," he muttered under his breath."How soon till they reach us?"

"A few minutes, prob'ly less," Vin shrugged, checking over his mare's leg to make sure it was ready for use. He looked up with an oath when he remembered their small companion.

"Chris, what're we gonna do with Ezra? Ain't safe fer him ta be here when the riders reach us."

Chris uttered a few choice curses, causing Nathan to raise an eyebrow and shoot him a look of disapproval.

"If your done taking the Lord's name in vain, I have an idea; I think it would be best if Vin went ahead with Ezra to find cover while we take care of whoever it is that's heading our way." Nathan raised a hand to halt Vin's protests. "Your still injured, Vin; don't even try to tell me you ain't hurting. Getting into a fire fight could tear up your stitches all over again. It'll be safest for all of us if you just take Ezra somewhere safe."

Vin scowled angrily, and was about to start up protesting again when Chris decided to speak up.

"Nathan's right. You ain't up for a fight. Take Ezra somewhere safe."

That said, Chris turned his attention to his pistols, tuning everything else out. Vin gaped at him, indignant and totally flabbergasted. Did he expect Vin to just... _obey_ that stilted order, without so much as a good counter argument?? Well, that certainly proved that the old man was going senile. Who did he think he was to order him around? His damn lord, his Goddamn _boss_? Well, he could dream on, because Vin wasn't going _anywhe-_

"Vin."

Vin blinked and shut his mouth with a click. He _really_ hated it when Chris did that to him. The man really needed to start talking in full sentences and stop using his Glare of Death, or one of these days he was going to piss the wrong person off, and then all Hell would bre-

"_Vin_. Get!"

Vin rolled his eyes, still a little miffed but willing to let this go for now. He jerked his head at Ezra. "Common, ya heard the man; let's get our asses off ta somewhere safe. His royal highness's too busy ta babysit us."

Deliberately ignoring Chris's glare, Vin haughtily kicked Peso into a gallop. _Beat that, Larabee - score one for Tanner._

_

* * *

_

Ezra slid carefully off the saddle once they reached the relative safety of a hollow canyon surrounded by trees and thick shrubbery. As much as he would have wanted to stay and observe the fight, even he had to admit that he was rather relieved he had been sent towards safety.

He peeked at Vin through the hair in his face, absently noting that he needed to get a hair cut soon. Vin was still scowling, something suspiciously pout-like in his general demeanor; apparently, their short ride hadn't improved his humor any.

Ezra rolled his eyes, careful to keep Vin from seeing it. He hoped Nathan and Chris finished up their... _business_ soon, because Vin really didn't seem in the mood for company or polite conversation, and Ezra could see this becoming painfully awkward quite quickly.

_Too bad Vin doesn't seem interested in finishing our conva'sation, _Ezra thought with a touch of regret. _Ah haven't talked with an adult like that in... well, _eva'._ Ah had hoped ah could learn more about him... oh well. So much fore that.  
_

Resigned to a long, boring wait, Ezra curled up against a tree and stared resolutely into the distance, letting his mind wander. Though he was unwilling to admit it even to himself, he was afraid--afraid that his new friends would lose the fight, and that he would end up back with O'Brien and his sick, twisted mind, destined to forever be his slave...

* * *

"So..." Nathan trailed off and shot an unreadable look in Chris's direction. Chris remained seemingly oblivious, continuing on silently with his examinations.

Rubbing a hand across his face, Nathan tried again. "Chris, was it really a good idea to send Vin off with Ezra?"

"Nope."

_One word answers it is, _Nathan thought ruefully. "Then why'd you let them go?"

"May not have been a good idea, but it was still our best option."

Chris finally looked up then, and Nathan took the opportunity to have an actual face-to-face conversation. "So... how are we gonna take care of this?"

"Simple," Chris said. "We're just gonna go with flow." He walked off, then, leaving Nathan to stare at him in consternation.

"Oh God," he moaned silently, glaring up at the sky, seriously tempted to shake his fist at it. "This is really going to be bad, isn't it?"

* * *

Ezra peeked in Vin's direction for what felt like the millionth time in past few minutes. Vin had been silent for a while now, staring at his arm and his guns periodically, a scowl etched firmly on his face. Ezra wanted desperately to break the stony silence, but he couldn't figure out how. He knew that Vin wasn't mad at him--probably at Chris and life in general--but he really, _really_ wished that he would say something and just stop scowling.

The words were out of his mouth before he even realized he was speaking.

"Ah neva' really had a good, or even proper, childhood, you know."

He winced almost instinctively. Rubbing a sheepish hand through his hair and staring resolutely at the ground, he murmured, "Did I just say that out loud?"

Vin looked up at him, his lips twitching into a half-smile. "Yep, I'd say so. What do ya mean ya didn't have a proper childhood?"

_In for a penny, in for a pound, _Ezra thought glumly. He idly considered that saying for a moment, smiling inwardly as he remembered that Vin didn't think he knew the well-known saying, 'Penny for your thoughts'. He just hadn't wanted Vin to know that Vin's accent had made it close to impossible to understand what he'd been saying. At least he'd caught it the second time.

"Ah... that is, ah mean..." _Sigh. _"Neva' mind. Ah'm sorry ah disturbed yore contemplation."

Vin cocked his head and stared, his face a thoughtful mask. Ezra tried to pretend that he wasn't bothered by it.

After what seemed like hours, Vin finally spoke. "As I said b'fore, ya don't have ta tell me anythin' ya ain't comfortable with. If yer feelin' up ta it, though, I'd like ta hear about yer childhood."

Ezra swallowed, torn. He liked Vin, he really did, which was a rather novel thing for him as he didn't get along with most people older than him. As much as he wanted to talk to him, however, his mother's training and his extreme lack of trust held him back.

For some reason he didn't understand, he began to talk. He told Vin about all the nights, alone, wondering where his mother was and wishing it wasn't so dark and scary; all those times when he'd try to hug her or simply talk to her and she'd just brush him aside like a discarded toy; and all the times he just wanted to play like a normal kid, but his mother had ordered him to help her with one of her cons.

He kept on talking until his throat hurt and he had run out of things to say. Throughout his speech, he vaguely remembered flinching at the sound of gunfire, but each time Vin managed to redirect his attention and get his mind off the fighting. Ezra barely even remembered what he'd said, and was starting to worry that maybe he'd said just a bit too much.

Vin, however, was quick to allay his fears.

Nodding slowly, a contemplative look on his face, he said, "Seems like ya've had a tough life, there, Ez. Thank ya fer tellin' me 'bout yerself. Why don't I tell ya a little somethin' about myself too."

Ezra, with an unconscious smile of relief, move to sit near Vin, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hands.

"Sure, ah'd like that."

"Righty then," Vin said. He moved a few inches back to lean against a tree, his eyes going a bit glassy as he tried to remember a good story to tell. A smirk crossed his face as his eyes lit up; he knew _just _the one.

"Well, ya see, there was this one time when I was 'bout 15. I'd just joined a team of buffalo hunters, and they were just beginnin' to get ta know me. It all started out quite innocently at first..."

* * *

Nathan kicked the prone man on the ground, smiling in satisfaction when it elicited a groan of pain from his wounded attacker. He swiped a hand across his sweaty forehead and turned to where Chris was tying up one of the other men. Out of the five men who'd attacked them, only two had survived, and the one Chris was standing threateningly over looked very close to meeting his maker. Personally, Nathan figured that most of his injuries had actually been acquired _after_ the short gun fight. Chris certainly wasn't being gentle.

After one last good kick, Nathan reluctantly started to tie the man up. Though not usually one to resort to extreme violence, this man had been trying to take Ezra from them. Besides, the guy'd managed to nick his arm with the knife he'd pulled on him, so Nathan was feeling rather in the mood for revenge.

He turned his head just in time to see Chris throw a punch at his captive's face and knock him out cold. Nathan winced. That had looked rather painful. He'd have one Hell of a bruise if he survived the night.

"You know, Chris, that man looks like he's close to dyin' anyway. Maybe you should lay off for a bit?" It came out as a question, more because Nathan wasn't feeling that sympathetic himself.

Chris shrugged nonchalantly and rolled the unconscious man over with his foot. "He tried to hurt Ezra. And he probably works for the guy that shot Vin."

Nathan waited for him to say more, but when no more was forthcoming, he shrugged and figured that was as good a reason as any. Whistling sharply for his horse--Raine, something he'd been teased mercilessly about--he lifted the groaning man up on his saddle and tied the man's hands in front of him.

"You get anything from your guy?" Nathan asked. He watched as Chris pulled out a small flask and took a long pull.

"Not much," Chris said, offering it to Nathan and shrugging carelessly when he shook his head. "But we can always question them tomorrow."

"If they're _alive_ tomorrow," Nathan said under his breath.

* * *

"-Jake wasn' too happy 'bout tha, ya see, but me an' Johnny managed ta convince him tha it wouldn' happen again. So he let us off... tha time."

Ezra shook his head in a mixture of amazement and disbelief. It seemed Vin had been quite reckless and mischievous when he was younger. And thinking on it, Ezra realized that he was probably just as much of a trouble maker now as he had been back then.

"So you didn't get punished? They didn't mind that you'd messed up?" Ezra asked, eyes still rather wide. "You almost got shot! _And_ you almost set the camp on fire."

Vin scratched his head sheepishly. "Well, fer one thin', nobody knew 'bout the fire. And as fer gettin' punished... _Jake_ let us off, but..." He grimaced. "Dan wasn' as inclined ta let us get away with it, and he set a private fire on each'o our backsides."

They both winced, Vin in remembered discomfort and Ezra in sympathy, even though he secretly thought that they'd probably deserved it. Letting all the captured buffaloes out, almost setting fire to the camp and nearly getting shot in the process?? Accident or no, they'd definitely deserved it.

They noticed the sound of approaching voices almost simultaneously. Vin, who'd immediately stiffened and moved into a defensive posture, shoved Ezra behind him and grabbed his gun. Ezra ran behind a tree without needing to be told, holding his breath carefully, idly noting that it was becoming a bit more natural for him.

As the voices got closer, Vin recognized them as Chris and Nathan. Letting the tension seep out of his body, he called out to Ezra that it was safe to come out.

Both Chris and Nathan looked to have come out of the fight relatively unscathed, though Nathan was holding his arm a bit too carefully. The both had something tied to their saddles, though they were too far away for Vin to make out what they were. He gave a shout of greeting, waving his good arm in their direction. He got a tired wave from Nathan in return.

"They're back." Ezra seemed more shocked than anything, which puzzled Vin for a bit until he realized that Ezra hadn't been sure they'd return. His face morphing into a sympathetic expression, he placed an arm gently over Ezra's shoulders and pulled him in closer for a one-armed hug.

Ezra stiffened initially, but he soon relaxed and even reciprocated. They stood side by side until their two 'guardians' pulled to a stop in front of them.

Now that they were close enough for him to see them, Vin realized that on each one's, horse there was a man tied down on it. He raised an eyebrow in surprise, but decided to wait and ask them later, perhaps once Ezra was alseep.

Vin moved forward to help Chris get the man off of his horse, but Chris brushed him aside, telling him he shouldn't aggravate his shoulder. Vin frowned in annoyance but let it go for now.

"How'd it go?" He asked, leaning against a tree and nodding to Nathan in question. "You guys survive without me?"

Nathan grinned tiredly as he pulled his captive off his horse, letting him fall to the ground with a groan. Giving his horse a thankful pat, he answered dryly, "Was a piece of cake, Vin; a piece'o cake."

* * *

_A/N: Please try to remember that reviews are my drug; when giving them to me, you give me really great highs. Not that I'd know anything about that..._


	9. Same Ol' Situation

_A/N: Aw damn, I feel like such a heel. I had a majority of this chapter just sitting on my computer, and I didn't even realize it. RL has been a nightmare, but that really shouldn't be an excuse. This isn't even that long, and I'm really sorry about that. I just wish my muse was being more cooperative. I'm surprised it even let me finish the chapter. Sorry, again, for taking **so** very long to update. Hope you enjoy the chapter anyway!_

_Disclaimer: Please see the last chapter. I'm just not in the mood._

_

* * *

**Same Ol' Situation**  
_

"Shoulda jus killed'im, ya know. S'not like anyone's gonna miss'im."

Chris gritted his teeth and managed, through extreme self-restraint, to NOT strangle the younger man riding next to him. Four miles - Four _extremely_ long miles - and Vin had yet to stop mumbling about their unwillingness to kill off their captive.

And hey, so_ maybe_ Chris agreed with Vin; that didn't mean he was just going to kill a defenseless man. And didn't Vin realize that killing off the man currently groaning at his left would probably traumatize Ezra for life?

No, of course he didn't. When Vin was being stubborn, he just didn't think about these things.

"-'sides, he's usin' up our resources. And with Ezra ridin' with Nathan, his horse'll get tired sooner, an'-"

And they still had two miles to go. If Chris lasted that long. Which he doubted. Sincerely.

Ezra'd been rather quiet since they'd finally started traveling. It wasn't like he was being completely silent - he answered a few questions occasionally, nodded or shook his head to the simple ones, and was all around very polite and well behaved for a boy his age. And, if what they'd seen so far was any indication, this was probably how he normally acted.

But somehow, Chris sensed that Ezra wasn't just being nice and polite. He seemed more… Contemplative. Thoughtful. Almost… worried.

"-don't ya think so, Chris?"

Chris blinked, and leveled a glare in Vin's direction. When would the guy learn to shut his trap?

Vin looked startled for a moment, before his features morphed into a look of wounded indignation. Chris swallowed back a sigh, and tried to relax his clenched jaw. Trust Vin to be offended at something that was completely his own fault.

"Ya, Vin? Something you wanted to ask me?"

Vin scrunched up his nose and shook his head, still looking extremely hurt.

"Never min'." A wounded sniff, and Vin was back to staring resolutely at the surrounding landscape.

Chris went back to clenching his jaw. The past four miles, bad? These next TWO were already proving to be a test of his powers of restraint.

NOT kill Vin? Sure. He could manage that.

For the next few minutes, at least.

* * *

Nathan was talking to him again.

Ezra tried to concentrate on what the tall man was saying, but couldn't seem to keep his mind attuned to the conversation.

It had finally hit him, just as they'd finally started on the last leg of their journey, that from now on, his life – as he knew it – was pretty much over. Forever.

He definitely wasn't going back to his-_that women_. He didn't have any other relatives that he could think of, excluding the countless people his-_she _had used to assist with their cons. He acknowledged the fact that these men (who, despite his efforts, he'd grown rather attached to) had no obligation to keep him with them. Most likely they would ship him off at the soonest opportunity, and he'd already prepared a mental list of the people he could pretend were family until they let him go and he could find his own way in life.

But how would he provide for himself? He was still surprised he'd managed to survive on card playing and careful scams while in hiding_. _News of a young boy who frequented saloons and appeared to be without a family would travel fast, and if he was going to attempt to stay hidden, there was no way he could continue doing that.

But who would hire him? He wasn't adept to a life on a farm, and besides, no family in their right mind would hire a young-looking child like himself. Especially one without a caretaker, and one who had no way of proving his identity.

His future was looking bleaker by the minute.

"-and then there's this boy, Billy, who's 'bout your age, I reckon, and I'm sure the two of you will get on handsomely."

Ezra blinked away those bleak thoughts momentarily and gave, what he hoped, was an excited nod. As he was sitting behind Nathan, there was really no reason to be nodding, but he figured it was only polite.

Drifting back to his former line of thinking, he began going through a possible list of places he could go, places where fitting in would be easy, and where he could carefully insert himself into the population without being noticed and without drawing unnecessary attention.

"Want some water, Ez? It's getting' pretty hot out here."

Ezra looked up, and almost fell back in surprise when he found himself staring into Nathan's face. He choked back a yelp of shock, and nodded quickly. He'd been so immersed in his thoughts he hadn't even noticed that his throat was parched and that his face was shining with a thin layer of sweat.

It was dangerous to get so caught up in his thoughts that he forgot to keep a lookout for his surroundings. Ezra resolved to save his moments of deep contemplation for a time when he could afford to let his guard down.

He chugged down a few mouthfuls of the refreshing water and handed it back gratefully when finished, swiping at a few renegade droplets. Yes, definitely not good to forget that he wasn't safe here: he didn't know these men, THEY certainly didn't know him, and this was an all around unfamiliar situation that he definitely hadn't trained for.

Being careful and observant right now was an absolute necessity.

* * *

_Back in Four Corners_

"Two more weeks! But you said it would be finished _soon_!!"

Josiah continued calming hammering at a nail, not showing any outward reaction to Buck's outraged cry. "It took decades for the pyramids to be built, Buck. In comparison to that, this _is_ almost finished."

Buck grumbled under his breath, using the back of his sweaty hand to swipe at an equally sweaty face. A sly one, that preacher. Buck had only agreed to help out with the church because: one, it was so hot these days, and he'd felt kinda bad for the older man as he toiled away at the ruined church all on his own; and second, because he really didn't have anything better to do anyway.

With this hot weather, none of the pretty young ladies wanted to be outside in the heat, preferring the relatively cooler indoors. The saloon was pretty stuffy this time of year too, and there were only so many beers a man could drink before he started getting the urge to do something with his hands.

I should probably be on patrol, Buck decided. And if it were any cooler I definitely would. But this weather just wasn't suited for galloping around the perimeter of the town, keeping an eye out for imaginary robbers and gunman who were probably smart enough not to go robbing places in the middle of the friggin' summer anyway.

Which brought him back to his current problem.

Buck concluded, after a good few minutes of glaring sullenly at Josiah's back, that promising to help finish the church with the preacher man hadn't been a smart idea. If he'd been using his brains, he would have realized that this pile of crap wasn't gonna become a church any time soon.

The old man had tricked him right good.

"Church ain't gonna build itself, Buck. Best get to it."

Buck could have sworn there was an evil twinkle in the Preacher's eye as he said it. Muttering unflattering things under his breath, Buck went back to trying to figure out how two pieces of broken plywood could turn into an awning.

He couldn't WAIT till the other guys got back.

* * *

Two hours later, and Buck was ready to kill something, Sanchez preferably.

"How in Hell is this supposed to attach to _this_? This piece'o shit ain't gonna attach itself to anything!!" Buck resisted the urge to kick at the offending 'piece of shit' with difficulty.

Josiah, who was definitely smirking at him, jerked his head in the direction of a pile of nails. "Knock a few of those in. I've found they're quite useful when trying to keep things together."

Buck resolutely kept his mouth shut and _did not_ swear. Because swearing near a soon-to-be house of God was probably a bad idea. If only one of the other guys were here... when were those idiots gonna be back, anyway? Being stuck with just JD and Josiah for so long was _bound_ to mess up his head...

As if on cue, the sound of galloping horses drifted from the beginning of the small town. Buck shielded his eyes against the harsh glare of the sun, trying to squint out the identities of the riders.

Bandits, maybe? A marauding bunch of no-gooders looking for some easy money? Maybe he should have asked JD to go on patrol for a bit... or gone himself...

Buck let out a whoop of relief when the obvious profile of Chris Larabee came near enough for a positive identification. Gratefully dropping the hammer he'd been holding, he grinned happily at Josiah, his earlier cheer fully restored.

"Looks like the boys are back; mind if I go greet'em?" Buck tried to dredge up some semblance of guilt over leaving Josiah out in the sun on his own, but couldn't quite manage it.

Barely waiting for Josiah's answer of, "Sure thing, Buck." he skipped happily over to where Chris and guys were just dismounting.

"Bout time, ya old dawg!" Buck called out as he came to a stop a few feet from Chris's horse. "Been stuck here with only 'Siah for company!"

Chris turned around, a half-grin on his face. "Miss me, did ya Buck? If I knew you'd miss me so much, I'd have made more of an effort to convince you to come with us."

"Goin' out into the boonies with you knuckleheads? I'd have gone crazy after the first day! And besides, whatever would I have said Miss Valerie?"

Chuckling, Buck slid his gaze absently over the rest of the guys, nodding at Vin and Nathan - and did a double take.

"Well well, what's this, then? Hello there, little man! What're you doing with this group of scalawags?" Buck said, crouching down to the little one's level. The boy looked to be somewhere between six and eight, with longish auburn hair and a small build. When he looked up at Buck, startled at being addressed by the strange man, Buck got a quick glimpse of glittering green before the small head lowered and hair fell in front of his eyes, hiding their clear color.

"Ah... me, sir?"

Buck blinked in surprise at the thick Southern accent, but shrugged and held out a hand, ignoring Vin's wry comment of, "I take offense ta that commen', Bucklin."

"Hello, son, my name is Buck Wilmington; you can call me Buck. What's your name?"

The little guy gaped at him for a moment, seemed to realize what he was doing, and shut it again. He then appeared to straighten, a polite, blank look spreading across his face. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Buck wondered how, and why, a kid of this age would know how to blank his face like that.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mista' Wilmington. Mah name is Ezra Standish."

Buck solemnly shook the small hand, hiding a grin. Oh he liked this little tike. Where had Chris run across this kid?

"Buck! Where's JD? Is he off with that Casey girl again?" Chris hollered from a few feet away from them. Buck raised his hands in an exaggerated, 'How would I know?' gesture. Chris just shook his head and pulled his horse off to the livery.

"Common, kid, you must be hungry. Let's get you something to eat, yeah? Nathan, has the kid eaten anything?"

Nathan shook his head. "Ate this morning before we left, and that was about three hours ago. He should get something eat."

Buck nodded decisively and reached down to hold to kid's hand. He would question Chris later; for now, he had some important business to take care of.

* * *

Chris kicked the door to the jail cell shut and locked it, ignoring the cell's hapless inhabitant as he groaned in pain. So much had happened in only a few days. So much to think about, so many things to take care of...

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. After so many years, it was such a foreign concept to be even the temporary caretaker of a child. Not since Adam... well. It had been so many years; did he even remember how to take of a kid anymore? Keeping a kid was a difficult thing; to start with, if they planned on keeping Ezra even temporarily, they'd have to find out who his parents were, whether he still had any, where he was from, and a bit about his past. And of course, there was the matter of who was going to keep him...

Keep him? Since when was he thinking about keeping the kid? He'd only just met him, and he barely knew a thing about him! Never mind that the kid was starting to grow on him...

Now thoroughly confused and annoyed at himself, Chris stalked out of the jailhouse and slammed the door with a bang. Taking a quick moment to calm himself, he headed over to the Saloon. Better to keep thoughts like that for later.

He still had to deal with everyone's questions, after all.

* * *

_A/N: OH that could have gone so much better. Oh well, what's done is done, LOL. Hope ya'll don't hate me too much, and that you managed to enjoy the chapter._

_The chapter title was a dedication to the song of the same name by **Motley Crue**, a favorite band of mine.  
_


	10. Altercations, Meetings and Realizations

_A/N: I was completely surprised when my Muse came back yesterday. I wrote... four thousand words, was it? Yeah, about that much, in ONE DAY. I haven't written that much at once since... last year, I think. And this was _on the train_. I astound myself. And you, my faithful readers, astound me more. Thanks for your support, ye few who were kind enough to review. Keep your fingers crossed that the muse continues to flow._

_On a different note, when it's from Ezra's third-person POV, I will be referring to all new adults as Mr. or Mrs. so-and-so until they give Ezra permission to call them by their first names. I hope that makes it less confusing. Please feel free to let me know what you think! REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!_

_EDIT: __**miserichord **__was kind enough to point out that a mistake I'd made regarding Ezra's age. Just to clarify, Ezra is eleven, Billy is eight/nine, but because Ezra's small, everyone assumes he must be Billy's age. I hope that clears up any misunderstandings._

_Disclaimer: __I own nothing but myself. And, like, my Bob. At least in this chapter, anyway._

* * *

_**Altercations, Meetings and Realizations**_

As the door to the saloon swung gently shut behind him, Ezra took a moment to let his eyes adjust and take in the darkened room.

It was of average size for a saloon, with seven or eight tables scattered around room, chairs haphazardly tucked against them, a few poker tables, and the wooden bar top lined with worn barstools.

There was nothing to particularly differentiate it from any other saloon he'd entered, played and conned in through the years, and that, in and of itself, was comforting.

Something about the smoky, dark atmosphere, glasses chinking gently in the background, the muted voices of lunch time patrons (calmer in temperament than the rowdier crowds of the evening) sending waves of calming sound throughout the room… all of them contributed to create a soothing din that washed over Ezra gently, welcoming him like an old friend.

Recent… incidents should have dulled that pleasant feeling, but Ezra found, to his relief, that this only seemed to heighten those feelings. Apparently, his body was engrained to always think fondly of saloons and gambling; in a way, it was like coming home. When in doubt, find a saloon, or some such.

Funny how quickly he could forget the happenings of the past few weeks when faced with a familiar 'face' in an unfamiliar situation.

He must have made some kind of sound or motion, because Buck – Chris's friend with the big bushy moustache – looked down at him quizzically.

"You all right there, son?" he questioned as he gently steered Ezra towards one of the tables in the back.

Ezra, still caught up in the sudden wave of old emotions, gave him an absent nod and began to move more quickly towards one of the tables in the back corner, avoiding people, a server lady and jutting tables with an ease that spoke of long standing experience with such things.

Buck silently added this to the list of things he needed to ask Chris about. This kid was turning out to be quite the mystery. A cute one, undoubtedly, but a mystery nonetheless, and not one Buck was about to abandon any time soon.

He reached the table a few seconds before Buck, and Ezra chose the seat facing the rest of the room, providing him with a good view of the endless possible Marks.

Directly across from their table two men were having a good natured argument. They both appeared to be farmers, not ranchers; ranchers tended to tear their clothes in the line of duty, while the farmers, if a bit worn and dirt smudged, usually kept their clothes clean and intact.

Ezra instinctively crossed them off his mental list of Marks. He knew, on some level, that conning people and cheating with cards wasn't right, but he'd long since learned to ignore the twinges of his conscience at such times. Stealing from hard working farmers, however, who got little to no money as it was, was a bit too much. Some things just couldn't be justified, no matter how desperate he may be.

Rich business men, however…

Ezra carefully disguised a predatory grin as a yawn as he caught sight of a well dressed older gentleman.

Slightly on the overweight side with a neatly trimmed moustache, expensive suit and top hat, the gentleman was sitting at one of the nicer tables, a glass in hand and another man in front of him, no doubt his partner, or a client. They appeared to be deeply engrossed in their conversation, papers carelessly scattered around the table.

The perfect Mark.

Once their business was concluded, the older gentleman would no doubt invite the other man to dinner at the hotel to close the deal, after which he would bring him back to the saloon for drinks and cards and company.

Ah yes. The _perfect_ Mark. He just had to take his time, come back later when Chris and the others were occupied with other things…

Oh. He'd forgotten about Buck.

Ezra quickly glanced up at Buck, trying to ascertain how long he'd been spaced out. Considering that Buck was preoccupied with the waitress (a dark haired woman of Spanish or Mexican decent) and not really getting anywhere in the process, Ezra figured that if he _had_ noticed – which was doubtful – he probably wouldn't have cared anyway.

"What'cha wanna eat, kid?"

Ezra's eyes widened involuntarily. _He's given me ah choice?_

With difficulty, he managed to find his voice. "Ah… whateva sounds best, Mista' Wil- ah mean, Buck."

He fought to contain a flush when the pretty barmaid raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well all right, if yer sure. I may end up getting you something you don't like, though," Buck said with a good-natured grin.

"Buckk, you have not introduced me to your companion," the barmaid scolded. She crouched down, a hand still balancing a half-full tray, and smiled at him warmly. "It is not often such a gentleman like yourself comes to my humble saloon. It is an honour."

Ezra felt abashed that he'd mistaken her for a barmaid. The owner, serving drinks? Perhaps this wasn't the usual saloon after all…

"Now now, Inez, are you saying I ain't a gentleman? I come here a lot, you know, and I'd like to think I'm a decently gentle-like man," Buck interrupted with a confident leer.

"You, Mister Wilmington, would not know a gentlemen if he hit you in the face," Inez said scathingly. She gave Ezra another warm and said, "I am Inez. I hope to see you around more, Mister…?"

Ezra cleared his throat and gave her a hesitant smile. "Mah name is Ezra, Ezra Standish. It's a pleasha' to meet you, 'mam."

"Ah, so polite!" Inez exclaimed happily. She shook his hand gently and stood up, the glasses on the tray rattling dangerously for a moment. "I must go back to my duties now, but do come again, Mister Standish! Bring Mister Wilmington along only if he acts like a gentleman."

With that, she moved away in a swish of skirts, leaving Ezra a bit shell-shocked, and Buck with a dreamy smile on his face.

"Ahh, now that's a woman I could get to know better!"

* * *

Ezra let his leg fall back and hit the boardwalk with a dull thud. While not one to normally indulge in a childish act such as swinging one's legs, Ezra felt he deserved this one, if only for not giving into the urge to glare at Mister Wilmington.

The man had spent the past ten minutes flirting and generally making a fool of himself with some lady they'd run into while coming out of the saloon. Ten. _Whole_. Minutes. Ezra knew, because he'd been counting.

It was hot, his was already feeling grouchy, and Mister Wilmington just _wouldn't shut up_. So yes, he was entitled to a bit of sulky kicking.

The sound of someone coming up the board walk caused him to raise his head and temporarily halt his kicking. Upon seeing who it was, Ezra nearly sighed with relief.

Vin looked from Ezra to Buck with a knowing look on his face. Shaking his head in exasperation, he motioned to Ezra to follow him, and Ezra jumped to his feet gratefully and did just that, Buck not even noticing as he disappeared down the road with Mister Tanner.

"Buck git distracted again?" Vin asked sympathetically. Ezra, not wanting to rat on Mister Wilmington, shrugged, but gave Vin a look that indicated, Yes, Buck had been distracted.

Vin chuckled and ruffled Ezra's hair, which caused Ezra to yelp and hurriedly try to straighten it. Glaring at _Vin_ did absolutely nothing, making him wonder if it would have been better to simply give into the urge to glare at Buck. Would have saved him the sore shins, in any case.

"So I thought I'd show ya around town a bit, introduce you ta some people. That sound good?" Vin asked after they'd been walking for a few minutes in comfortable silence.

Ezra glanced up and him and started to nod agreeably; something occurred to him mid nod, however, and he hesitated.

"Somethin' wrong?" Vin said, eyebrow raised in question.

Ezra gave him a mildly startled look, but hurriedly replied, "Oh no, it's nothing. Ah was just… wondering where ah'd be stayin', is all."

Vin nodded slowly, taking his hat off and twirling it with his fingers as he thought.

"I hadn' thought'a that. You kin probably stay with Mrs. Travis; she's a nice lady, has a kid 'bout yer age, and she'd be happy ta let ya stay."

Ezra hummed noncommittally, even as he gave a mental grimace. That would never do.

This Mrs. Travis, whoever she was, was probably the motherly type, and having her restricting his movements under the misguided belief that he was happy to allow her to take on the role of mother-figure would be terribly awkward, at best.

He would be forced to be the darling, sweet, model child, and after spending the better part of eight years playing the perfect little boy, he wasn't about to spend another minute pretending.

And for that matter, what if she _didn't_ like him? It wouldn't be the first time. If this Travis woman didn't like him but were given even temporary custody of him anyway, no matter how nice Vin and Chris or even Nathan were, she could make his life completely miserable.

No, this would never do.

Making a split second decision, Ezra put on the charm full blast; then, turning, he aimed soulful and vulnerable eyes up at Vin - the very picture of innocence. It was a look he'd spent years perfecting.

"But Vin," he began, once he was certain his charm was working, evidenced by the softening of Vin's features, "Ah don't know this Mrs. Travis. What if she doesn't like me? Might ah just stay with you or Chris?"

It was always a gamble to lay on the charm like this. Some people were naturally immune to his charm, and occasionally, if he was really unlucky, they would even be able to see through it. Although there had only been a handful of people so far who could see through his act, the possibility was always there.

Something told Ezra that Chris would be one of those ones who would be immune, perhaps even able to see through it. _Him_ he would have to tread carefully around.

Vin was a different matter entirely; everything about him practically screamed 'easy mark'. Though part of him felt a guilty about playing his rescuer and almost friend in any way, he felt it was a necessary evil, in this case.

Vin smiled gently and put a hand on his shoulder. Ezra resisted the instinctive urge to brush it off.

"Hows 'bout we go see Mary first, and if ya'd still prefer ta stay with one of us, we'll see what we can work out, 'kay? And don't you worry, Mrs. Travis'll love ya."

_Mary Travis, then. Interesting._

Ezra nodded, not quite satisfied, but confident he could turn things his way should the situation require it.

* * *

The door to the small building chimed quietly as they entered, causing the pretty looking blonde, blue eyed woman sitting at her desk to quickly stand and walk over to them.

"Vin, what a pleasant surprise! I trust your trip was successful?" she said with a warm smile.

Vin tipped his hat at her in greeting, his mouth tilting upwards in an answering grin. "'llo Mary. Trip went well as can be expected, I s'pose; some unexpected things came up, but it's all good now."

Mrs. Travis looked intrigued. Vin shifted slightly, bringing the previously hidden Ezra into view, who had to fight a blush.

"Mary, Ezra. Ezra, Mrs. Travis."

Mrs. Travis bestowed him with a smile of her own as she crouched down to his level. He noted with some irritation that a lot of people seemed to be doing that lately. Nevertheless, he gave a polite bow of greeting, missing the look of amusement the adults shared over his head.

"A pleasha', Mrs. Travis," he said.

"Is Billy in, Mary?" Vin inquired as she ushered them towards the only available seats in the overcrowded room.

Stacks of paper, books, boxes and all manner of things lined shelves on the walls, filled the corners and covered furniture, giving the room a comfortably lived in feeling, if a bit crowded.

Mrs. Travis looked up from where she was unsuccessfully trying to clear the coffee table. "He's upstairs at the moment, I believe. Would Ezra like to meet him? It'll be nice for him to finally have a friend his age. The Potter children are darlings, really, but they're quite a bit older than him, and he sometimes finds it hard to relate to them and play their games. By the way, how long will you be staying, Ezra dear? Do you have family here, or are you just passing through?"

Ezra shifted his weight uncomfortably, unsure how to answer that. Thankfully, Vin answered for him: "That's somethin' I'd like ta talk with you 'bout, Mary, if that's all right. If you'd like, we can talk while the boys introduce themselves."

Ezra was gripped with a sudden feeling of panic. If Vin told Mrs. Travis what had happened to him, there was a very big chance word would get out, inadvertently or otherwise. In small towns like this, there was no such thing as secrets. If word got out… _He_ might find him! And after all he'd done to get away! They needed to come up with a cover story, and fast!

Before he could gather enough of his wits to tell Vin this, Mrs. Travis was already introducing him to a boy about his age, and when he finally had the chance to open his mouth and call out, Vin and Mrs. Travis were gone, the door swinging gently, and he was left in the room with a scowling Billy Travis as his only company.

* * *

As it turned out, all that time spent worrying about Mrs. Travis had been wasted; apparently, he should have been worrying about the young Travis boy.

Billy seemed determined to cling to his bad mood, for reasons unknown to Ezra. It would no doubt be an exercise in futility to try to be friendly with him at this point, but he had to try. If he had to live in this town, being enemies with the only other kid his age would be unhelpful. Besides, Vin wouldn't be happy about it.

So taking a deep breath, he stuck his hand out, and in his politest, most approachable tone said, "Nice to meet you, ah'm Ezra."

The grouchy boy just _looked _at him. Then he had the nerve to say, in a terribly scornful voice, "Why do you talk so weird? Are you dumb or something?"

It took considerable effort not to jerk his hand back, and it was an even harder to fight the angry flush that threatened to color his face.

Instead he dropped his hand with forced casualness, shrugged, and said, "Funny. Ah could say the same of you."

Unlike Ezra, Billy wasn't capable of hiding the indignant blush that spread across his face at the implied insult. Ezra calmly ignored the boy's angry sputtering, feeling annoyed, a bit disappointed, and quite certain that nothing and no one could ever make him like Billy Travis.

_Not if I can help it, anyway, _he thought decisively, with just a hint of disgust. It would be disgraceful to waste his considerable intellect on one such as the Travis boy. One conversation and he could already feel his intelligence level falling dangerously.

This decided, he wandered over to Mrs. Travis's desk, determined to make the most of this time by learning what he could of the kind blonde woman. If what he'd seen of the room so far was any indication, Mrs. Travis was some kind of writer, maybe a reporter, if the stacks of newspapers were hers. A printer, perhaps?

Despite his earlier reservations, he was forced to conclude that should he be unable to stay with Vin or Chris, Mrs. Travis was probably the next best option. After all, even if she wasn't a reporter or writer or anything of the sort, she seemed like she would know something about the town and other such pertinent information that he would need when he got out of here. Yes, should it come to that, Mrs. Travis would be his choice. She would be a useful person to get to know, in any case.

The large desk sitting prominently in the right hand corner of the room was covered in various papers, pens and other writing materials. It had a look of carefully coordinated messiness, much like the rest of the room, and Ezra was struck by how much it fit what he knew of Mrs. Travis so far.

A bit untidy in a way that still seemed to imply that, though it would appear messy to the untrained eye, if something were needed, it could be located at a moment's notice. Ezra felt it suited Mrs. Travis, with her tumbling blond hair, bright eyes, ink-stained hands and pleasantly ruffled appearance.

An equally as large and just as prominent printer sat in another corner of the room. It had a well-used quality about it – not worn, just well used, and obviously a prized possession. Ezra, aware of how expensive such things were, could appreciate how well it was taken care of and what it must have cost to acquire. He walked over to it, giving it a slow once-over. A few trays of carefully arranged metal letters gleamed where the sunlight hit them, silver and black against the brown of the oak-wood shelf.

From where he stood, Ezra could see bits and pieces of words, not much, but enough to make out something that could have been 'news' and perhaps 'politics'. Hmmm… probably a printer, then, as he'd thought. Interesting.

He leaned closer, studying the kegs of ink, the stacks of paper, a box of assorted metal alphabet letters, the ink splatters, the giant machine with its many gears, wheels, uses...

So engrossed was he in his looking that he failed to hear Billy Travis coming up behind him until it was too late.

Billy gave him a shove, not hard enough to knock him over completely, but enough to make him stumble sideways and fall onto one leg. He banged his other leg against the press hard enough to bruise as he fell, and he suppressed a hiss of pain, covering his discomfiture by looking over his shoulder and glaring at the smirking boy, leaning against the press for support.

"That's my mama's press," Billy said pompously, "don't you go touchin' it."

There was a note of smug superiority in his tone that made Ezra's jaw clench, his hackles raised.

What right did this ignorant _child_ have to order him around? As if he would have been stupid enough to actually _touch _the press. And even if he had, it's not like he would have broken anything. The same couldn't be said of the pathetic infant who probably wasn't even aware of the press's function.

Oh HOW he wanted to fight back, defend his honour, _shout_ at the little upstart, teach him his place... But he couldn't do that; Vin would be cross, and Mrs. Travis would never agree to let him stay with her…

An evil little idea began to form in his head, and he let a small little smirk curve his lips. As he moved to get up, a small voice in the back of his head screamed at him that this is what _Mother_ would want him to do, and since he hated that woman, what was the point in doing something that would make her proud?

_Oh shut up, _Ezra growled at it. _Ah'm __doing this for ME, no one else. Besides, he deserves it. _With a small effort of Will, he snuffed out that small voice and went about putting his plan into action.

Straightening slowly, he turned to Billy completely and bared his teeth in a predatory snarl. "Now why should ah listen to you, little boy? Why eva' would ah stoop so low as to take advice from one who is mah inferior? Kindly run off and play with yore toys, and leave the important things to us grownups."

The said, he turned away and waited for the fall out.

As Ezra'd thought he would, Billy flushed bright red at this and gave him another push, this one harder than the last. Ezra let himself fall, allowing the momentum to push him towards the shelf that held the trays of letters. Just as he was about to hit the floor, instead of putting out his hands to stop his fall, he reached an arm out and knocked over the shelf. The trays fell with a resounding crash, the little letters scattering loudly every-which-way across the floor.

Again, as he'd predicted, this prompted Vin and Mrs. Travis to come back into the room, Mrs. Travis's face morphing into horrified dismay as she took in the mess. Vin's reaction was… a bit unexpected.

Instead of immediately coming to help Ezra up and demanding to know what happened, allowing Ezra to spin a sad story of rude and hurtful children, Vin took a moment to observe the situation first: his keen eyes took in Ezra's fallen form; Billy's flushed red face and clenched hands; the fallen shelf. Something like understanding crossed his face before his features turned stern.

"All righ', what happened here?"

Oh dear, not quite the reaction he'd been hoping for. After a quick mental check to ensure his features displayed an appropriate amount of shocked anger, Ezra pointed a finger and exclaimed, "Billy pushed me!"

He struggled to his feet, needing Vin's assistance to stand, and clutched his leg for dramatic effect. It did hurt, really, but not badly enough that he couldn't hide it. In this case, however, having an injury would be beneficial to proving his innocence.

He looked up at Vin, trying to show bewildered hurt. Vin's face became a bit less stern as he knelt in order to get a better look at his leg, his hands gently pushing up his trouser leg and checking for broken bones. In the next moment, however, he asked ( in a suspiciously mild fashion), "And why did'e do tha', Ezra?"

_Damn._

Ezra hesitated. This wasn't good. He didn't want to lie, because it would be easy enough for Billy to discredit anything he might say, and they would be inclined to trust Billy's word over his, what with Mrs. Travis being his mom and all. But if he didn't say something, he would look just as guilty as if he'd told the truth. Decisions, decisions.

Before he could decide anything, however, Billy burst out with a hurried, "He was sayin' mean things to me!"

_Oh good lawr'd. The little moron's going to completely ruin things._

He felt like saying, How astute of you, I'm surprised you managed to deduce that much at all, but resisted at the last second. That would not have been smart in the slightest.

He gave an indifferent shrug when Vin turned to him with an inquiring look. That mild look was still there, and it was beginning to make him nervous, not that he'd admit it. "He was being uncommonly rude. Ah was merely attempting to defend mahself against a numba' of grievous insults."

"That's-that's a lie!" Billy cried furiously. "He was sayin' stuff about... about mama! And he called me... he called me inferor!"

Ezra couldn't resist the urge to roll his eyes at that one. Honestly, infe_ror_? "And you called me 'dumb'. Ah'd say we're quite even now, don't you think? Though you did push me," he reminded Billy.

Mrs. Travis spoke up at this point, her voice slightly distressed. "Are you hurt, Ezra? Oh I _wish_ you two hadn't fought! What have I told you about fighting, Billy Travis?"

Billy looked abashed, while Ezra had to fight a smirk of triumph. The urge to smirk faded, however, when he caught the _look_ Vin was sending him. Calm, steady and nonthreatening, it still made him want to crawl on his knees and beg for forgiveness, maybe even add a confession or two. It was very intimidating, and Ezra had to look away after a moment.

Things really weren't going as planned.

* * *

Chris looked at his companion from across the table, amused. "This is starting to get a bit familiar, pard. What's wrong this time?" He took a sip of his drink and waited, content to be wait his friend out. Vin squinted up at him from under the rim of his hat, but said nothing.

"Oh common, Vin, something's obviously botherin' you. Is this about Ezra?" Vin nodded reluctantly, and Chris hmmm'd in understanding. "Is this about the guy that attacked you?" he asked again, trying to coax Vin into talking.

Vin shook his head and took a long gulp of his beer, before shrugging and saying succinctly, "He got inta' a fight with Billy Travis."

Chris choked on his whiskey mid-swallow, and collapsed into a coughing fit. When he'd recovered slightly, he asked hoarsely, "He _what_? Ezra?"

Vin just sighed and shook his head again. "I know, I couldn' believe it myself."

"How in _Hell_ did this happen?" Chris exclaimed with considerable disbelief.

"Tha's the thing," Vin said wryly, "I haven' got a clue."

Chris waited for him to elaborate, but when Vin didn't continue, he prompted, "Because…?"

Vin stayed silent for another moment, then abruptly leaned forward and blurted out, "I jist can't figure 'im out! I keep gittin' the feeling that there's somethin' important I'm missin', but I just can't figure out what!" He fell heavily back into his chair at this, and commenced staring gloomily at the table top.

Chris gave a quiet chuckle and patted him on the shoulder comfortingly. "Why don't you tell me about it? Maybe I can help you out a bit."

Vin gave him a rundown of what had happened with Ezra that day, from when they exited the saloon till the end of the fight at Mary's.

"-And then I left 'im ta help clean up with Billy. I jist didn't know what else ta do," Vin finished helplessly.

Chris nodded slowly, looking pensive. They spent a long moment in silence, Vin blankly staring at his drink and Chris thoughtfully turning his empty glass over in his hand.

"I think we're going to have to keep a close eye on young Mr. Standish," Chris finally said, his face still thoughtful.

Vin looked up at him in surprise. "Whaddaya mean?"

Chris shot him a tolerantly amused look, and said, "You know what I mean. It's got to have occurred to you by now that he could have been playing you, am I right?" He waited for Vin's jerky nod of agreement before continuing, "I doubt he meant to be malicious about the whole thing, but with what he said about not wanting to be with Mary, it's completely possible he orchestrated the whole thing to ensure that he wouldn't have to go with her. I mean, you would have done the same thing, I think."

Vin looked even more surprised at this - though it turned out, for entirely the wrong reason: "Gosh, cowboy, since when did ya start usin' all them big words?" Ignoring Chris's glare, he added, "And I wouldn' have done somethin' like that! I jis would have asked!"

Chris's glare turned amused at that, and he amended, "Well, maybe not you. I know I would have, though. If I didn't want to stay with someone, what better way to make sure that happened than to pick of fight with that person's kid? There's no way the kid's parent would want to keep me after that."

They contemplated that for a moment, lapsing back into a thoughtful silence. It was Vin who broke it this time with a gusty sigh. "What should I do, then? Should I confront him 'bout it? What if I'm wrong, and it really was jist an accident or somethin'?"

"I'm sure you'll figure something out," Chris said unhelpfully. This time it was Vin's turn to glare.

"I talked to Buck and Josiah, and I'll speak with JD, once I find him," he continued, and Vin's glare swiftly faded.

"What'd they say?" Vin asked, feeling a bit concerned. If the others thought having Ezra here was dangerous for the town, they would have a serious problem.

"They agree that whoever this guy is, he's not going to stop till he gets Ezra back, and to Hell with whoever stands in the way. We can't leave Ezra on his own, that'd be as good as killing him ourselves. But until Ezra tells us what really happened, and why this guy is after him, we can't do anything to help him. He's need to talk, and soon."

Vin acknowledged this silently, though privately he wondered how that was going to happen. They hadn't had any luck so far, and who was to say that had changed at all?

"In the mean time, where are we going to keep him?" Chris was saying, oblivious to his companion's silent ponderings. "Mary's obviously out of the question."

Vin agreed, saying, "I'm sure Mary wouldn' mind, she's real forgivin' like that, but if we did, who knows what Ezra would do ta get away. I think we're gonna have ta keep him with us in the boardin'house."

"He could do worse," Chris said, shrugging. "We can protect him better the closer he is to us."

Vin nodded and got up then, stretching, muscles popping from sitting for so long. "We can talk 'bout this tonight. For now, I've gotta little gambler ta see to."

He drained the rest of his drink and headed out, tilting his hat at Inez in thanks for her service.

Time to deal with young Mister Standish.

* * *

_**A/N: **__I hope this chapter makes up for the time I spent not writing this year. Hope you enjoyed!_


	11. Double, Double, Here Comes Trouble

_A/N: Well, here's the next chapter. I was going to go for a bit longer, maybe another 2k words or so, but I have a weakness for cliffhangers, because I am evil like that. -cackles- Hope you guys like the extra long chapter anyway. :) Hopefully, I'll get around to writing the next chapter soon. Wow, I love my Muse right now. I've never had it be so active. Keep those finger crossed people! Let's hope this writing craze of mine continues. _

_Please keep with the reviewing, and if you spot any mistakes or anything stands out to you that doesn't quite look right, please let me know. I haven't had the time to beta this much._

_Disclaimer: I own JP, Mr. Lewis, Hespera and... Abernathy, was it? In any case, I own nothing else. _

_

* * *

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_**Double, Double, Here Comes Trouble**_

For someone who'd been kind and rather fun less than a day ago, Vin's personality had made a complete turn around.

Sure, he was still kind, and sure, he would probably still be fun, were the situation different; but at the moment, he was pretty frightening.

Ezra snuck a quick peek at him from where he was crouched down, trying to reach the metal type 'B' that had disappeared under the printing press. The normally cheery man was talking quietly with Mary Travis near the doorway, and his face, while agreeable and friendly, still had that painfully _mild_ look about it.

Something about this new and unfamiliar look was even worse than what he'd come to know as The Larabee Glare. It was just so… _mild. _It was the only way he could explain it. And what probably made it so disconcerting was that it just didn't fit what he'd learned of Vin _at all_.

Ezra quickly looked down when he saw Vin turn in his direction, and concentrated on looking Contrite and Immersed in his work. He waited until he felt Vin's eyes drift away before he relaxed back onto his heels, his thoughts awhirl.

Mary had been surprisingly forgiving, considering he'd knocked almost an entire day's work across a majority of her floor. She'd been so nice - even going so far as to ask him to call her 'Mary' - that Ezra had begun to wonder if maybe he'd overreacted: if she was this nice, would it really have been so horrible to stay with her?

As it was, this whole situation was getting out of hand.

Ezra'd been counting on Vin's reaction to complete his plan: Vin should have been more than happy to believe his side of the story, and should have brushed the whole thing off as just being a case of 'boys being boys' or something similar. Not… _this_.

Should he have roped Mr. Wilming–_Buck_–into this instead? He was definitely the type to believe the story of an innocent, lonely little boy who'd been the victim of a terrible misunderstanding. And yet… he'd thought that about _Vin_, and look how that had turned out.

But no… he'd never misread anyone before! …Well, excluding that one time when an old, bad-tempered matron of a hotel had refused to believe he'd, 'Just found the money lying around!'

But Vin had seemed such a perfect subject! It had to be something else.

Then again, with all that had happened to him in a mere _week_, it wouldn't be too surprising if he were a little off his game.

_Maybe ah should have listened to that little voice while ah still had the chance, _Ezra thought with a sigh. But…

_Naw_. It had been worth it.

Ezra looked over to where Billy was sullenly collecting the metal type and placing them in the box, and couldn't hide a smirk of satisfaction.

Totally worth it.

"Mary, I'd like ta speak ta Ezra now, if tha's all righ' with you," Ezra heard Vin say. He glanced up apprehensively in time to see Mary sigh and run a hand over her face.

"Yes, all right, he's done his share of the clean up. I'll take care of the rest with Billy. Lord knows most of this is his fault, anyway."

"I wouldn' be too sure 'bout that," Vin cautioned. Ezra, whose attention and eyes had started to stray due to loss of interest, jerked both back to stare at the two adults standing near the door in shock.

Perhaps Vin sensed him watching somehow, because the conversation became too hushed for him to hear, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Ezra wouldn't have heard them for the loud rushing in his ears and the buzzing of his reeling thoughts.

Did he _know_? Had he seen through him? Had he _really_ misjudged everything so badly?

Ezra felt a small hint of panic and indecision beginning to rise through his body, the tell-tale tightening of his muscles and quickening of his breathe precluding the rush of adrenalin that always came when a con or game threatened to go south.

This mix of feelings always led to a conflicting urge to either run like Hell, or form panicked plans for getting away quietly and undetected, or, if possible, to do both at the same time. All in all, a very bad combination.

Ezra ruthlessly shoved all of these urges into a very small corner of his mind, and forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly, calmly. Panicking would get him nowhere now, and would be both useless and unproductive. Better to save it for a time when it was needed; it could only hurt him in this situation.

Still breathing slowly, Ezra went back to collecting pieces, nearly jumping when the dreaded, "You can finish now, Ezra," came.

He plucked up one last piece and put it on the tray, then very carefully stood up and began brushing down his clothes, stalling for time.

A good look at his options was what he needed: if lying at this point was only going to dig a deeper whole for him bury himself in, he needed to know ahead of time so he could plan accordingly.

_Mah God, things were neva' this complicated befoa', _Ezra thought glumly.

* * *

For someone who'd been withdrawn, polite and introverted less than a day ago, Ezra's personality had certainly taken a turn.

Vin glanced at Ezra, who was diligently scrounging for the metal pieces of type still scattered across the floor, and gave a mental sigh.

Despite having talked to Chris about this, he still had no idea what to do.

Their conversation had almost convinced him that Ezra had done this deliberately, but he still couldn't help clinging to the hope that this had all been some unfortunate accident. It just didn't fit what he'd learned so far of the quiet boy. If he was honest with himself, he just didn't want to believe that Ezra was capable of playing them like this. It… wasn't _right_.

Doubtless, if this _had_ been a purposeful action, it probably hadn't been meant maliciously. Still… he just didn't want to believe it. Not yet; not until he had more proof.

Vin turned his attention back to Mary.

"He's a good boy, you know," she was saying, "I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding. Boys will be boys, and all that."

He smiled at her, grateful for her eternal optimism and forgiving nature. "I don' know what happened jist yet, but I mean ta ask Ezra 'bout it."

"I'll speak with Billy, too. With all that's happened to the poor boy, Ezra's probably just confused and frightened right now, and I'm sure they'll get things patched up between them once everything's cleared up."

Feeling doubtful about that, but nodding anyway, Vin leaned his shoulder against the door jam, fiddling absently with his hat as he tried to come to a decision. Should he brush this all aside for now, giving him the chance to observe Ezra and figure out if Chris was right? Or should he follow his instincts, which were practically _screaming_ at him that Ezra had to be held accountable, that no child should be allowed to get away with such blatant manipulation?

Maybe, for now, it would be best for all of them if he just let this one slide. Maybe he should just give Ezra the benefit of the doubt on this one, give them both a chance to get used to each other and this unusual situation first.

Maybe yes, probably no.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. When it came down to it, Vin just didn't think it was his right to do anything about this, never mind punish the kid for something he couldn't even prove. He'd just met Ezra; trying to be an authority figure this early in their somewhat tentative relationship could easily push him away.

_Righ'. So do nothing it is._

Having reluctantly come to this conclusion (after deliberately shoved all his uncertainties into the back of his mind), Vin asked Mary if he could speak with Ezra and hoped for the best.

* * *

They walked in the general direction of the saloon, as quiet as when they'd first walked this way, mere hours ago. This silence was considerably tenser than the last, with both Ezra and Vin wrapped up in their uncertainties and apprehension, neither wanting to be the one to broach the unavoidable conversation.

Eventually, when the tension became too much, Vin slowed to a stop and put a hand on Ezra's shoulder, bringing him to a halt.

"Ezra… we need ta talk."

Ezra swallowed, and nodded hesitantly. This was it: the moment of truth.

They sat down on the boardwalk, both quiet for another moment as Vin gathered his thoughts.

"What were ya thinkin', kid?" Vin asked finally, his voice soft, neutral. "What got you two fightin'?"

Ezra fidgeted with his hands a moment, unsure how to answer. At least Vin didn't seem angry, which was a good sign. Maybe this wouldn't go as badly as he'd thought it would.

"Ah…" he began, then stopped. He opened his mouth, shut it again, then sighed. "Ah'm not really sure, suh."

A hand on his chin lifted his eyes from where they'd been staring at the ground.

"It's jist Vin, Ezra. Why don't ya start from the beginnin', hmm? What got ya two arguin'?"

He swallowed again, finding it hard to think with Vin staring straight at him, as if he could read all his secret faults and find the truth in his face. Ezra realized, to his discomfort, that at this point, a true account of events was really the only option. A limited version of the truth, sure, but the truth nonetheless.

"He made me angry," Ezra finally stated, a bit flatly. Possibly not the best thing he could have said, as it implied that he had been the one to start the altercation, but it was the closest thing to the truth he was willing to divulge.

It seemed to be enough for Vin, however, because he let go of his chin after scrutinizing his face closely for a long moment. Ezra got the distinct feeling that Vin had been searching for a lie, and that if he _had_ lied, the scarily intuitive Texan would have caught it. It was a disconcerting thought.

"Go on," the Vin said gently.

Knowing he didn't have much of a choice, Ezra continued, looking back down at the ground, "Ah tried to be polite at first, but Billy rebuffed all mah attempts at friendship. He was being rude and unkind fore no apparent reason, and it made me angry. Ah was just trying to be nice," he added rather plaintively, and Ezra realized, as he said it, that this was also true; painfully so. He really had been trying to be nice to Billy, but the boy had refused all his efforts. Completely shot them down, in fact.

As much as he hated to admit it, the rejection had hurt. It was hard enough to make friends while skipping from town to town, running cons and essentially being his mother's ace in the hole. With his rich clothes and refined mannerisms, most children his age found him intimidating, and often times ignored him completely. He hadn't minded much; when his mind was occupied with other things, most of which involved scouting out possible Marks for himself and Maude, he was content in his solitude. During the down times, however, when there was nothing to do but sit in his hotel room and look out at the bustling towns, he had ached for friendship, someone within his age range to talk to and play with – something that had never come.

Ezra could feel Vin looking at him, and he kept his eyes fixed on the ground, not wanting to see his reaction to this shameful admission.

"When he pushed me, ah lost it, and ah… said some things. Some not vera' nice things. It made him angrier, and when he pushed me the second time-" here he left out a few things, unnecessary things that he was not about to admit to, even if Vin had undoubtedly figured them out for himself by now, "-Ah fell and knocked ova' Mrs. Travis's things. That's when you came in."

He stopped, and waited.

At his feet, a lone ant struggled with a crumb of something three times its size. As Ezra watched, it attempted to crawl up the wooden sidewalk, but ended up tumbling over and dropping its gigantic burden. The poor thing kept getting up and trying to climb, only to fall (_get up, fall, get up, fall),_ failing and falling again, and again, and again…

Something about this small creature - this lonely, sad creature - and the way it tried and failed countless times to bear its heavy load dredged up an emotion from deep inside him that was so strong and terrifying it took his breath away.

He almost choked on it, this painfully thick emotion so cloying and _real_ it made his eyes sting and made it impossible to breathe. It took all of his considerable will power to keep this feeling from showing on his face, and even then it was barely enough.

What a great moment to go absolutely _batty_.

He forced himself to look up, look away, and tried not to flinch when he found Vin staring directly at him again, his face inscrutable. At least that mild look had disappeared, though that wasn't much of a consolation.

Ezra knew his explanation was less than adequate, but it wasn't like he could say, 'sure, Vin, I knew Billy was angry, and I deliberately used that information to get him to attack me, insuring I could stay with you'? Yeah, right.

There was nothing more he could do; the ball was in Vin's court now.

* * *

When Ezra finished his story, Vin almost sighed out loud with relief. So it hadn't been intentional, just a simple disagreement between two boys whose personalities had clashed. He felt a little ridiculous now for reading so much into the situation.

There was still that nagging voice in his head that kept insisting there was something Ezra was hiding, and that _something_ had definitely been intentional about the whole thing, but Vin very firmly told it to _shut up_, and it subsided. There was no point in being paranoid, not when Ezra had been so open and honest with him.

It was actually a bit surprising that he'd been so forth coming. Vin had expected it would be a little bit like pulling teeth from an ornery horse, but Ezra had offered an explanation readily enough. Perhaps they were finally making progress.

When he happened to glance down at Ezra, Vin saw his face suddenly twist into a horribly pained expression, with an emotion behind it that he couldn't place. Alarmed, he was about to ask him about it, but it disappeared before he could say anything. Ezra looked up then, and Vin had to resist the urge to find out the source of that look. Now wasn't the time.

He didn't want to push his luck by asking Ezra any further 'touchy' questions about his past, even though he'd promised Chris he would, so he decided it was time to wrap things up.

"I think it would be good if ya 'pologised ta Mrs. Travis and Billy. Jist tell her what ya told me, and I'm sure she'll forgive ya jist fine. Try ta get 'long wi' Billy this time, kay?"

For some reason, as he'd started talking, Ezra jerked his head up, his face stunned and a bit puzzled, but in the end he nodded readily enough, his face turning to apologetic so fast Vin thought maybe he'd imagined it.

"Yes suh, ah'll do that now."

Vin almost corrected him about the 'sir', but decided against it. He'd break him of that habit eventually.

"All righ' then," he said, giving Ezra a casual half smile. "Let's jist drop by Mary's again and git that over with, then we kin head over ta the boarding house ta see 'bout yer accommodations."

* * *

"Hey Buck, I heard Chris and guys are back! Have you seen them?"

Buck reluctantly glanced up from where he'd been happily appreciating the front of his companion's dress, disappointed at the interruption.

"Uh…" he began unintelligently. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts, but when he finally did, he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the saloon, or it could have been the livery. "Went over there… I think. Not sure, wasn't really paying attention."

This brought his mind back to what he'd previously been 'attentioning' to, and Buck was distracted all over again.

JD sighed, amused and resigned, and went off to find his wayward companions on his own. Trust Buck to be completely unhelpful.

It had been rather uneventful and boring around Four Corners without Chris to intimidate any and all unfortunate travellers who happened across their town, Vin to create havoc, and Nathan to patch up the injuries of everyone involved. Buck could be fun when he wasn't busy salivating over some attractive skirt, but since that was all he'd been doing lately, he was no help. As for Josiah… well; building a church is really only attractive if one is, say, addicted to manual labour, sweat, and looking unattractive.

It was good to have them back. Now all he had to do was find them.

* * *

Ezra was… confused. Very confused. And slightly disillusioned.

When Vin had told him he wanted to talk, Ezra assumed he was finally in for it, caught in the act, and had resigned himself to paying for his misdeeds. It had almost been… a relief, of sorts, that he was finally going to own up to his disgusting act of un-gentlemanly-like behaviour, and his atrocious act of playing with people's emotions. He'd been anticipating a relief from the unexpected guilt he was feeling, and when Vin had just… brushed it aside, like it had been nothing more than a little misunderstanding, Ezra had been surprised, grateful, and then, unexpectedly, very confused. And a bit disillusioned.

He had had to clean, of course, and apologize; but while the cleaning had been terribly asinine, and the apologizing an exercise in his restraint not to kick his newly-dubbed enemy, it would be a serious stretch for Ezra to call it a punishment.

Maybe he'd been wrong all along; maybe Maude hadn't really taught him wrongly. Was it normal, then, to string people along for one's own benefit? Was conning and cheating people really an acceptable way of life?

That didn't seem right, though, and this was mainly what had Ezra so confused. A bit angry, strangely enough, at _being_ confused. And a bit disillusioned.

_Neva' mind that, now, _he told himself sternly as they walked away from Mary's, done with the expected apologies. _No need to complicate things._

But it was useless, now that the thought had entered his mind, to try to suppress it. He tried anyway, but his doubt and confusion refused to disappear. Would things ever be simple for him? Would anything _ever _make sense?

_It's like playing a game of cards,_ Ezra thought rather ironically, a bit bleakly. Only this was a game that he _had _to play, _had_ to finish, had to _fight_ to get through in one piece: playing was imperative, final. To not play was unthinkable.

_But one has to know the rules to play the game, and ah don't know these rules. _

Again, that awful, unidentifiable emotion swept its way past his defenses - only this time, he recognized it for what was: the overwhelming, unavoidable, terrifying feeling of being crushed by inevitability, of knowing that there is nothing you can do to help the situation, yourself, or anyone else. That there is nothing left to do but curl up on the ground and wait for your moment to die_._

He recognized this feeling because he'd experienced it once before, back when all this had started. Ezra felt his hands clench involuntarily, and he strove to relax them, even as a wave of grim determination pushed itself to the surface. He was so caught up in it that he failed to notice the look of concern Vin shot at him.

_Ah will not give in to this again, not this time. Ah have endured moa' than enough uncertainty and pain; ah deserve to make mah own choices. From now on, ah do what ah think is best fore ME. _

Starting with tonight.

_A game of poker sounds just lovely._

* * *

Ezra had been quiet since they left Mary's. Too quiet.

Looking down at him, Vin found himself questioning, again, if he'd handled the whole thing wrong. There could, of course, be a myriad of other reasons for the boy's silence, but he couldn't ignore the possibility that, by handling the situation as he had, he'd done something that could irrevocably ruin Ezra's faith in him and adults in general. Though why that might be the case Vin couldn't quite say, but it was a feeling that wouldn't fade, despite his counter arguments and mental reassurances to the contrary.

Having not had the greatest of childhoods himself, Vin didn't have much to base his fears on, but living in Four Corners, watching the way the various town's people - Mary, the Potters, a few of the more friendly families - treated and raised their children had gifted him with some knowledge of children, the way they think, and how to deal with the many problems and difficulties that came with child rearing. Even Chris and they way he acted around Billy Travis was very informative and thought provoking.

Unfortunately, Ezra was not anywhere _near_ a normal child.

He glanced down at Ezra, mind still on the mysteries of a child's mind, and noted with some alarm and no little concern the way the quiet boy had his eyes tightly closed, shoulders tense and breath a bit unsteady. Vin almost reached out, almost asked him what thought had caused this reaction, but pulled back at the last moment. He was probably just remembering the fight; Vin had not missed the way Ezra's voice had echoed his hurt at being rejected by the Travis child, something Vin regretted on his behalf.

Why Billy had reacted the way he had was something Vin planned on asking Chris to speak with the boy about. _An' if he doesn't, I definitely will,_ Vin thought grimly.

Eyes still focused on Ezra, Vin was able to catch the change in expression and the clenched hands that came with Ezra's decision to look out for _Number One_. Though Vin didn't know the reason behind this change of body language, it was enough to put him on edge. This couldn't be good.

Again, his uncertainties about his decision to brush the whole incident under the rug pushed themselves to the forefront of his mind. And again, Vin pushed them away.

_What's done is done,_ he thought, not without a hint of regret. _I did what I though' was best, an' I reckon I's jist gonna have ta live with it._

Still, he could not dismiss the feeling that this was going to come back to haunt him, and not in a good way. As such, it was with some hesitation and lingering concern that he pushed open the swinging door to the saloon and ushered himself and Ezra into the popular tavern.

* * *

It was more crowded inside than the first time he'd been there. Ezra looked around, taking the lively atmosphere that came with working being done for the day, and workers and travelers alike looking to find some way to relax, a way which generally involved getting drunk off their collective asses.

It took a moment, but Ezra eventually spotted Chris in the crowd, seated at a table with another, older looking man he didn't recognize. Vin, spotting them at the same time, steered them through the drunken masses and pulled out two chairs for them at the decent-sized table. Still wrapped up in his thoughts and future plans, it wasn't until he sat down that it occurred to him to give the unfamiliar man an initial once-over.

The man had short-cropped, curly grey hair, a hearty looking beard and mustache, and looked old enough to be his grandfather. Also with a large build and scarily big hands, this man gave off an intimidating, if rather scruffy, look. His blue eyes were kind, however, and they were enough to put Ezra immediately at ease, something which hadn't happened since... well, ever. And though he had yet to speak with him or even be introduced, Ezra felt an instant liking for him.

"Good to have you back, Vin," the gentle giant said in a pleasant rumble.

"I gotta say, it's good ta be back too, Josiah," Vin said with a pleased sigh as he settled into his seat. Vin said it with an exaggerated 'z', and Ezra mouthed it carefully to himself, memorizing the pronunciation.

Josiah with a 'z' chuckled lightly and said, "And who's your friend?" He directed the question at Ezra rather than Vin, and Ezra, appreciating the gesture, introduced himself without needing to be prompted.

"Ezra Standish, suh. It's a pleashu' to meet you."

Josiah shook his outstretched hand gravely, and replied, "Josiah Sanchez. Please, call me Josiah."

Noting that he pronounced it with an 's' rather than a 'z', Ezra smiled and said, "Then please call me Ezra, Josiah."

His attention drifted then, so he didn't noticed the rather astonished looks that Vin and Chris exchanged. The gentleman and his companion, who he had labeled earlier as potential Marks, didn't appear to have arrived yet. Confident that he'd read them correctly, however, Ezra wasn't worried. It was still early, after all, only around five or six in the evening. They were probably having dinner at the hotel still. It was better this way, anyhow. It would be much harder to pull off a proper game/con if Chris and the others were here when he tried it. Though unaware that Vin and Chris had been present when he'd been running his game back in Eagle Bend, he was still unwilling to try anything with them present. Chris and even Vin had proved to be scarily perceptive when it came to these sorts of things, and it would be quite horrible if they were to somehow interrupt his game and ruin his concentration. Or for that matter, alert the entire population of the town to his less-than-stellar activities, which was a distinct possibility.

No, he would have to distract them somehow, maybe come back later once they were off doing something else. Ezra had pegged Chris from the start as a sometimes heavy drinker, so he might stay longer than Vin, who seemed the type to prefer solitude over crowds. Josiah he couldn't quite say yet, but it could go either way.

He was wracking his brain for some way to get them out of the saloon and away from where they could do damage to any of his schemes when Vin took care of it for him.

"Ezra, we need ta talk about where yer gonna stay."

Ah, good; a perfect distraction. He turned his focus back to the table and concentrated on looking attentive. "Am ah... gonna stay with Mrs. Travis?"

He doubted that would be the case, but there was always a possibility-

"No, yer gonna stay the boardin' house with one of us 'til we kin decide where yer gonna go and what's gonna happen next." Ezra skillfully ignored the pointed pause that Vin clearly wanted Ezra to fill with the reasons behind him running, the man who'd shot Vin, and a number of other things Ezra was most certainly not going to talk about.

"Will ah be rooming with one of you?" he asked honest curiously, all the while desperately hoping that he wasn't going to have to. That would put a serious crimp in his future plans, and would totally negate the purpose of his getting Mary out of the picture in the first place.

"Nah, we'll git you yer own room fer now, unless ya'd prefer ta stay with one a'us. We all tend ta have weird sleepin' hours, so I thought ya'd sleep easier on yer own." Ezra was quick to agree, hardly able to believe things were going so according to plan.

"Do you want ta come now?" Vin asked, and Ezra nodded, trying not to seem too eager. "All righ' then. Chris, ya wanna come?"

Ezra glanced his way, not sure if he wanted him to come or not, but Chris just shook his head and stood up, motioning to a harried looking Inez that he'd finished. "I've got to check on the horses and talk with JD about anything that might'a happened while we were gone. I'll come check it out later."

Vin shrugged and said, "Suit yerself," before waving goodbye to Josiah and heading out the door. Ezra, relieved, followed quickly after him.

Once they'd gone, Josiah turned to the still standing Chris and, with a casualness that belied his next words, said, "I'd keep an eye on that one if I were you."

Chris nodded wryly in understanding and picked up his discarded hat, briskly placing it on his head. "Believe me, I realized that about ten seconds after meeting 'im."

Leaving a chuckling Josiah behind him, Chris headed out as well, thoughts concentrated on one young fellow who'd become inexplicably entangled in their formerly simple lives.

* * *

With an attentive Mr. Abernathy, the owner of the boarding house, hovering a few feet behind them, Vin let Ezra lead the way as he slowly and carefully looked at each room. Finally, after they'd gone through most of the rooms and Vin had showed him where the rest of the town's unofficial peacekeepers slept, Ezra discovered a room that practically _screamed_ perfection, or as close to perfect as one could find in a boarding house.

The room was probably about 6ft. by 10ft., a good size for anything not an expensive hotel room. The was one large picture window against the far-north wall, allowing for a good view of the backs of the hotel and the saloon, as well as the fields behind the boarding house and some of the main road. A large, ancient oak tree grew almost directly against his window, and Ezra knew that with a bit of effort, he could use it to climb down or even get on the roof with it. A single bed pushed against the right wall and just resting in the corner beneath the window - the plain brown quilt matching the pale, cream-colored walls nicely - had a small dresser with a set of drawers resting at its foot. Other than a small writing desk with a shelf of wood nailed above it, the room was empty. And Ezra felt it would perfectly suit his needs. It was a bit plain, sure, but that could be remedied easily enough. What was most attractive about it, in his opinion, was the possibility of an easy escape from his quarters should he find it necessary to, say, engage in a few midnight activities that the adults would otherwise not approve of.

"Ah'd like this one, please," Ezra said to Vin and Mr. Abernathy, unable to hide the slight quiver of excitement in his voice.

Vin smiled at him, glad to see him happy. "Sure thing, Ezra. Me and Mr. Whitaker over here'll take care a' business; why don' ya go get yer stuff. I think they're probably still in the stables with yer horse."

Ezra felt a gasp leave his lips, and nearly ran past Vin and a bewildered Abernathy. Hespera! He'd completely forgotten about her!

He broke out into an all-out run once he'd cleared the stairs, and managed to reach the stables in record time, despite having only been there once before. Skidding to a halt just inside the doors, he took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the light before anxiously looking around for Hespera. Spotting her off in the corner, chewing contentedly on some straw, he rushed over to her, knees feeling wobbly with relief.

"Hello, mah dea' friend," he said in a hushed, apologetic voice, still breathing a bit fast from his run. "Ah'm so sorry ah didn't come check on you right away. Are you all right?"

He ran a hand over her neck, allowing her to nuzzle his pocket for possible treats. It was then that he noticed her tack and saddle were missing, and that she'd apparently been brushed down, with food put in her stall.

Ezra was still gaping in confusion when Chris came up behind him, startling him enough that he tripped and fell against Hespera. Or would have, if Chris hadn't caught him just in time. A sense of strong _déjà vu_ hit him, but he tried to ignore it, struggling to regain his composure.

"I found her in here, still saddled, when I came to check on the horses," Chris said, a bit of gentle reproof in his voice. Ezra felt his cheeks flush with shame. He'd been so busy hatching various plans and schemes that he'd completely neglected his only friend in this new world _full_ of unknowns.

He hugged her neck, fighting to hide the moisture that suddenly clouded his vision. "Was she all right?" he asked, his voice embarrassingly thick.

His face was still hidden in Hespera's silky mane, but he didn't move when a hand cupped his neck, bringing with it an inexplicable sense of comfort.

"Don't worry, she was fine. It's been busy for ya these past few days, so I don't blame you for forgettin' to tend to her. You just gotta remember something - can you do that for me, Ez?"

Ezra was almost afraid to move, as if doing so would break the spell that seemed to have fallen over the both of them, with Chris's gentle touch bringing up feelings and emotions completely foreign to him, ones he wasn't sure he was ready to confront.

Feeling painfully vulnerable, he answered Chris's question with a muffled, "Yes," not even noticing the hated nickname that had slipped out, or that he'd neglected to add the mandatory 'sir'.

"Your horse has always gotta come first. You might be hungry, tired to the bone and want nothing more than to throw yourself on your bed and sleep for weeks, but that's never an excuse not to take care of your horse. They can be your best friend, Ezra, if you treat them proper."

The hand left his neck, and Ezra felt a strange feeling of loss. Sniffing lightly and trying to cover it as he rubbed at his face, he turned to Chris and gave him a quivering smile. "Ah... yes, ah will try to remember that. Thank you fore taking care of her."

Chris nodded, his face oddly kind, and reached up to take down a pack that was hanging from a nail on the wall. Ezra took it from him, trying to show his gratitude at everything Chris had done for him without having to put it to words. He wasn't really sure he could, at the moment.

It seemed that Chris understood, because he brushed a hand through Ezra's hair, allowing it to linger for a moment, before saying, a bit gruffly, "Get that up to that room of yours. I'll come by and see it later," before he walked out of the stables, leaving Ezra to cling to his pack and wonder what had just happened.

* * *

Vin, while puzzled at Ezra's hasty departure, had shrugged it off as one of the peculiarities of childhood and continued to stare at Ezra's new room.

Something was missing.

When a cursory examination failed to yield any inspirations, Vin took to studying the room foot by foot, taking in the walls, the coloring, the bed, the furniture..

It was as he studied these that it hit him: the room was too plain. There were no decorations, and with nothing more than the bare necessities, it lacked personality and color. As he thought over what could be done to make it more welcoming, the answer came to him in a flash of understanding.

It was so obvious, Vin could have slapped himself. With a wide grin on his face, he jogged over to his room a few doors down and jerked open the door, ignoring Whitaker's confused questions. On his bed, tucked under his bag, was just the thing to make Ezra's room seem more like home.

* * *

Feeling a bit lost and not quite sure what to do now, Ezra wandered down the road, bag still clutched in his hands. His mind kept wandering to that moment in the stables, the unaccustomed emotions of warmth and comfort that had come with a strong feeling of _acceptance_. He didn't know how else to describe it. When Chris had taken the time to worry about his feelings, he had been granted a small glimpse of what Could Have Been. It was... painful, almost. Painful knowing what he'd missed, living a life of uncertainty and uncaring.

He pulled the bag against himself, unconsciously tightening his hold, hands wrapped around his waist, until it was almost hard to breath. To know what it felt like, to experience it, only to realize that he would never feel it again was enough to leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

Ezra knew he couldn't afford to let his thoughts drift like this, to the possibilities of a normal childhood and what that could have meant for him, where that could have left him today. He couldn't, because he knew that dwelling on it too long could allow him to fool himself into believing that it _was_ possible, even now, when he knew it was much too late. Building a dream life, considering the _possibilities_ of one, would only hurt him all the more when it was viciously torn away.

'If Only's would get him nowhere.

It was with some surprise that Ezra realized he'd ended up at the saloon in his aimless walking. Not knowing what else to do, he pushed the doors open, noting wryly to himself that this was becoming a habit, and wouldn't Mother be _proud_.

Josiah wasn't there, and neither was Chris, Vin or Buck. Or Nathan, for that matter, but Ezra hadn't thought him the type to frequent such establishments, his skin color not-withstanding.

Ezra wasn't sure whether he should be happy about their absence or not, until he noticed something very important, which immediately led him to conclude that yes, it WAS a good thing they were gone.

His _Mark_ was back.

He drifted through the crowd, eyes scanning the room without any apparent purpose. This wasn't true, however, and he soon found what he was looking for; as the back door that led to the kitchens swung open and Inez came out with a loaded tray, releasing the tantalizing smells from within, Ezra quickly ducked around a group of rowdy customers and slipped inside.

He found a low-hanging shelf holding dry goods and various other foodstuffs, and he carefully placed his bag in one corner, hidden from sight unless you knew where to look for it. Finding a reflective surface in a shallow pan of water, he straightened his clothes, ran his hands through his hair, picked at a few pieces of lint and practiced his 'innocent and guileless' face. While the clothes left much to be desired, Ezra figured it could only help him blend in in a town conspicuously lacking in rich and money-accustomed people.

Preparations complete, he stepped out of the kitchen and arranged his game face.

* * *

Mr. J. P. Addison, the proud owner of a small but budding legal company, was interrupted during his evening indulgence of alcohol by a small voice, issuing from somewhere near his elbow, that said, in a pleasant, polite voice:

"Excuse me, suh, but might ah interest you in a game of chance?"

John Patrick turned to look for the source of the voice, and was surprised to find it had originated from a boy of about eight to nine years of age, with short brown hair and bright green eyes, wearing a small, well-kept if dusty suit. He was holding a deck of cards that positively dwarfed his hands, and he had an innocently earnest look on his face.

As the father of two young boys, though both were a few years younger, John Patrick was at once both charmed, curious and rather concerned.

He was about to question the young boy further, when his drunk companion, Robert Lewis - a rich, older rancher who had hired him to help with some legal problems, and was currently celebrating with him over a completed deal - said to the boy, rather insultingly, "Yer jus' a kid, boy. What's yer name?"

Said kid, expression remaining guileless and unassuming, said, "Evan Sanders, suh."

Robert continued, words slurring, "Righ', Sinders. What makes ya think we'd play wi' the likes a you? Yer just a kid, prolly don' have the money or know howda play, anyways..." Robert trailed off as he became occupied with gulping down his drink, some of it sloshing onto his waistcoat, John noticed with distaste.

Evan, however, positively beamed at this answer, and John was intrigued to note that this smile was anything but innocent and guileless, unlike his previous look.

"Well, suh, ah guess you won't know until you try."

Although John knew he should put a stop to this - because honestly, what parent in their right mind would willingly allow their kid into a saloon, by himself, to _gamble_? - but it was proving to be too intriguing to stop. John decided to let it play out, and if it did go too far, he could always contact the kid's parents and get him out of there. After all, it wouldn't do for them to try to file a lawsuit against him.

* * *

Ezra was happy.

As he'd thought, the older looking gentleman with the mustache was indeed rich, and a heavy drinker too, as it turned out, and he was proving to be more than he could have hoped for. With five games already behind them, Ezra had managed to win the first four and lose the last, and was planning on winning this one and losing the next, so Mr. Lewis wouldn't be suspicious, and would feel confident enough to begin betting more.

Mr. Lewis's companion, however - a one Mr. John Addison - was proving to be a bit smarter. While Ezra hadn't had the chance to really observe him before, now that they were in such close contact, Ezra used the opportunity to get a good look at him.

Somewhere in his mid to late thirties, with a thinning head of black hair, kind eyes and slightly less expensive suit than his companion, Mr. Addison had spent the last half-hour unobtrusively studying Ezra. Declining to join in on the game, he'd instead watched from the background, face inscrutable, and for all the world looking like he couldn't care less that a young kid was giving his companion a run for his money.

Somehow, though, Ezra got the sense that Mr. Addison saw and heard a lot more than most would. And as much as Ezra would have liked to stay and relieve Mr. Lewis of all his money (which, at this point, he probably could have done without the intoxicated man even noticing), with how attentive Mr. Addison was being, Ezra didn't feel comfortable staying too long. Perhaps he could convince Mr. Lewis to come by again, and they could finish their game some other day without the scarily observant Mr. Addison.

"Well, Mista' Lewis, it appears ah have won once again," Ezra said smugly, comparing his three beautiful queens and two lovely sixes to Mr. Lewis's lowly eights. Mr. Lewis, swaying slightly as he stared with wide eyes at the cards, and said, with the slow carefulness of the highly drunk, "How... did ya do tha'? I swir-swear I saw those somewhere in'a deck."

"And apparently, you were wrong," Ezra said firmly as he gathered his winning and stowed them away in his suit pocket. He sighed dramatically, one eye looking for Mr. Addison's reaction, and said apologetically, "Unfortunately, mah time is up. Ah regret to announce that ah must leave you gentlemen. But should you eva' pass through town again, ah would be happy to indulge in anotha' game with you."

That said, and having carefully filed away Mr. Addison's amused reaction, Ezra was about to step away from the table, when a voice rang out over the crowd and caused him to almost choke on his tongue:

"Ezra? What the hell are you doing here?"

* * *

_A/N: Liked it? Let me know!_


	12. O Run, All Ye Faithful

_A/N: So. Here we have the long awaited chapter, which went in a completely different direction than I planned for it to, and which took me much too long to finish. I apologize, again, for the wait guys. Thanks to all of you who have been so patient and stuck by this fic, despite the slow moving plot and lack of frequent updates. I do love you guys. I'm not sure I'm completely happy with this chapter, but I've been over it so many times and I still can't figure out what to change, so... hope you like!_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing and everything - nothing, mostly. Oh, but I do own JP._

* * *

**_O Run, All Ye Faithful_**

Ezra felt his mind stutter to halt, and came up with a complete blank when he tried desperately to find a way out of this unfortunate turn of events. After a moment of failed contemplation, and having resigning himself to some dangerous improvising, he turned smoothly around and shot this unexpected arrival a sweet smile.

"Mista' Wilmington, a pleasha' to see you. What happened to Miss James?"

Buck, in a surprisingly perceptive move, refused to be distracted and proceeded to exclaim, "I thought you were with Vin checkin' out the boarding house! You shouldn't be here by yerself, you know, it ain't safe!"

Mentally scoffing at this, Ezra projected innocent confusion. "I was merely endeavouring to enquia' as to Mista' Sanchez's whereabouts, but all I've been able to discova' is that he seems to have vacated the premises."

It took him a moment to decipher this, but when Buck realized what Ezra had said, his alarmed expression softened a bit. "Oh, Josiah went over his church, I think. You shouldn't be here by yerself, though. Why don't ya head over there now?"

Seeing Mr. Lewis open his mouth, his drunken faced morphed into a look of complete confusion, Ezra answered with a hurried, "Of course, ah will meet you outside. Ah wish to say goodbye to my new acquaintances before ah go."

Seeing nothing wrong with this, Buck gave his okay, and turned to leave, but not before throwing out a teasing comment at a snappish Inez.

"…Ezra?"

Ezra snapped his head around, and came face to face with Mr. Addison's amused - yet frightfully calculating - visage.

He rummaged through his head, trying to come up with an explanation, and finally settled for a rather vague, "It's a nickname of sorts," that had him hiding a wince.

Mr. Addison just nodded thoughtfully, his eyes scanning him in a knowing fashion that was rather intimidating. Anxious to escape any further question, he hurriedly said his goodbyes and made references to further meetings which Ezra privately promised himself would never happen. Mr. Addison was proving to be too intuitive for that.

Mr. Lewis, thankfully, seemed to have forgotten his puzzlement over Ezra's apparent name change, and he merely mumbled an incoherent reply.

Goodbyes over with, Ezra beat a hasty exit, supremely thankful he hadn't been found out just yet, not noticing Mr. Addison's still thoughtful gaze following him out the door.

* * *

_That boy, _J.P. thought to himself. _That boy._

Whoever his parents were must have a nightmare of a time keeping up with him. And wasn't that man who'd called him 'Ezra' one of the six peacekeepers who guarded this town?

Unable to let the matter go without sating his curiosity, J.P. bid his inebriated client a careless good bye and pushed his way out of the saloon, hoping he could get some answers from the delightfully helpful reporter lady he'd met earlier in the day.

* * *

_That,_ Ezra thought faintly, _was entire'le too close fore comfort. _

If it hadn't been Buck who had walked through those doors, threatening an entire evening's delicate work…

Ezra shivered, unable to help picturing all his careful plans, his future winnings, and his many lies and half-truths falling down around his ears.

But that shiver quickly turned into one of delight as the thrill of the game once again flowed through him. There was nothing quite like it: the careful dance of scheming guile; the winnings, both small and large; the defeats, both bad and slight. His blood was always pumping after a game, his heart beating out a rhythm of glowing triumph and satisfaction.

The danger was part of it too, the fear of being caught, the fear of losing; it made the winning just that much more sweet. At the end of the day, they all contributed towards the feeling of deep content that had settled any remaining unhappiness on his part over the disastrous and confusing afternoon.

And getting away with it? If this could get any sweeter, he would rot his teeth to the core.

So why was he still feeling a niggling sense of dissatisfaction?

* * *

"Vin, Vin!"

Releasing a sigh of exasperation, Vin turned around to bellow at whoever it was that had disturbed his thoughts – and broke into a wide grin.

"'llo, kid, good ta see ya."

JD gave him a manly slug to the shoulder, and said amiably, "I heard you guys got back, but I couldn't find you. How'd the trip go? Was Nate able to help out the townspeople?"

Vin took off his hat and dusted it off with his fingers, using it as an excuse to study JD. As the youngest member of their team, it was sometimes hard not to look at him and see the little boy he had been probably about half a decade ago. But once you ignored your initial observation and looked a bit closer, you could see the man inside, just waiting for the right moment to come out. That serious, adult side didn't come out often, but when it did, Vin had found that JD could sometimes provide valuable information and surprisingly insightful, interesting view points. He saw things a little differently than most, with his lighter, childish side almost outweighing the serious side; occasionally he would see something in a situation that everyone else would miss.

And on top of all that, JD was the sheriff of Four Corners. Which was why he was just the person Vin needed.

Giving a shrug, Vin replied casually, "Went'as well as could be 'spected, I 'spose, what with the whole town up-chucking every few minutes."

He waited for JD's appreciative snicker before adding, just as casually, "And we picked up a stray 'long the way, name's Ezra. Ya seen him yet?"

JD's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Ezra?"

"Kid, 'bout eight, nine maybe? (I'll have ta remember ta ask him that) Brown hair, green eyes, short. Really cute, gits dimples when he smiles."

"Oh!" JD said with some surprise, silently remembering to tell Buck that Vin – scruffy, distant, mysterious Vin Tanner – had just called someone adorable. "That kid's name was Ezra?"

"So you've met him b'fore."

"Aw no, I just saw him when I was passing the saloon. He was sitting on the sidewalk. Come to think of it, I think he was with Buck."

Shrugging one shoulder, Vin continued, "Well, anyways, I was wonderin', if ya have the time, if ya wouldn't mind watchin' 'im awhile for the next few days. He's kinda too young to be by himself, but I doubt he'd 'ave fun hanging around us old men all day long. I think 'e might git along better with you than any of us, and have more fun at the same time."

JD scuffed his boot in the dirt, looking thoughtful. "I was going to go on a ride with Casey, but she has to do something for Miz Nettie, so I guess that won't be a problem. Do you think he'd mind hanging out at the Sheriff's office?"

Something occurred to him, and his face brightened. "But you could always ask Miss Mary to watch him. If he's as young as you say, he might get along with Billy well enough."

Quirking a smile, Vin said dryly, "I don' think that's a very good idea any more." At JD's questioning look, he elaborated, "He got into a fight with Billy. I don' think he'd want ta be around him any time soon."

JD's eyes positively popped out of his head. "Woa, are you kidding me? When did this happen?"

Vin gave him the shortened version of the tale, and when he finished, JD let out a low whistle. "Wow. First day and the kid's already gotten into a fight. Got to be some kind of record. What's his story, anyway? His parents friends of yours?"

So Vin then gave him the very, very short version of Ezra's history (the little they new of it, anyway) and how they'd come to meet him, as well as what had happened in the past couple of days. He could see the wheels turning in JD's head as his mind processed the information, face lighting up occasionally as something he said about Ezra or what had happened flicked some sort of switch in his brain. When JD got like this, his eyes bright, his mind awhirl and his concentration on putting the puzzle together practically painted on his face, something profound and insightful would usually come out of his mouth forthwith. Whether or not JD realized how profound it was, they'd managed to capture a daunting number of criminals just by some small – to him, anyway – casual observation or offhand comment.

Which was why, once he'd finished and was waiting for JD to speak his peace, Vin was almost bowled over with what came out of JD's mouth.

Having visibly attached all the pieces together, JD had opened his mouth, and said: "So he _is_ the brown haired kid, right? Because I could have sworn I saw a kid like him here just yesterday."

Flummoxed and mentally flailing for balance at this sudden, completely unexpected change in direction, Vin just stared at him, stunned. When he finally found the words, all he managed to sputter out was, "Tha's _it_?"

JD looked up in surprise from where he'd been absently kicking up dirt again, and gave a confused, "What?"

"You…. You…" Vin spluttered. "Tha's it? What 'bout your… your small, incon'si'quential comments an-an' random lil' thoughts tha' always gits us out of messes? Where's the big, profoun' statement tha' we don't realize is gonna save us 'til jist before we're 'bout ta git shot down by a huge group of bandits? Where's the helpful observation tha's gonna help me figure out what the hell's up with Ezra?"

In response to his outraged spiel, all he got was a look of considerable bemusement.

"What are you talking about? I think you might'a been in the sun too long, Vin, cuz you ain't making a lick of sense. And since when do you use such big words like that anyway?"

Scowling at JD in irrationally annoyed disappointment, Vin muttered sullenly, "Not m'fault Chris's been weird an' usin' all them big words lately. S'catching, I swear."

Patting his arm in a patronizing fashion that made Vin want to hit something, JD said soothingly, "That's nice, Vin, now why don't you head over to the boarding house? I'm sure you're tired after your trip, and doesn't a good rest sound nice? If there's anything you need to get done, I don't mind doin' it for you."

As JD spoke, Vin remembered the real reason he was out there in the unforgiving sun, and he momentarily forget why he was angry at JD.

"Have ya seen Ezra _recently_, JD?" he asked with some concern. "He jist ran outta' the boardin' house when I was helpin' him pick a room, and I haven' seen him since. I figure he musta' found one'a the other guys ta keep him company, but I think maybe I should check on 'im anyways, jist to be sure."

"Naw, sorry Vin, haven't seen him. But I'll ask Buck, if he's around, and Chris, if I can find him. You wouldn't happen to have seen Chris around yourself, would you?"

Vin shrugged helplessly, but JD just waved a dismissive hand. "No problem, I'll find him eventually. Get some rest, Vin. I'll see you at dinner?"

Grumbling quietly about little boys needing to remember their place, Vin waved a hand goodbye at JD and trudged back to the Boarding House. Maybe some rest _would_ do him good. He could deal with the 'Ezra Problem', as he'd come to call it, after he'd gotten some much needed sleep and time out of the sun. He'd show Ezra the surprise he'd put up in his room when he came around for the evening meal.

Ezra should be able to take care of himself just fine until then.

After all, in a town as small as Four Corners, what kind of mischief could the little guy get into in such a short time?

* * *

The heat was getting to him.

Wiping irritably at the sweat dripping down his forehead, Ezra stalked to the telegraph office. It was high time he left this tiresome town with its manner-less imbeciles and lack of proper social standing. He'd managed to get a good haul that evening, and with just a few more games he should have more than enough to support him until he figured out where he would go.

Never mind the reason he was in such a state was because he'd been trying to secure proper lodging in order to stay at Four Corners.

He wasn't even sure why he was feeling so out of sorts. A feeling of discontent had been worming its way through his insides for the past few hours, leaving a faintly nauseas feeling in his stomach and anger in his eyes. It made him want to _move_, to get away, though where he might want to go he wasn't certain.

He was sick of this, of everything. He'd only been in this sandy little town for the better part of half a day, and already he wanted _out. _And what was so infuriating was that he didn't even know why, or if he really even wanted to.

Feeling sick, tired and angry, he stormed through the door to the small building, the bell on the door angrily ringing in response to his forceful push. The lady at the counter started, then put on a kind smile when she saw who her customer was.

"Hello there, are you waiting for a telegraph?"

With difficulty, Ezra smoothed out his expression and returned the smile, if a bit stiffly.

"No, ah would like to send one, actually," he said politely.

The lady looked a bit startled, but she helpfully turned to the desk and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen.

"Do you have it with you, or would you like to write it down? The longer the message, the more expensive it will be, I should warn you."

"That won't be a problem, it will be short enough," Ezra replied. She handed him the writing materials, and he quickly penned a short note to the bank where Maude had stored a small percentage of their winnings, for: "Just in case."

It's not like she would need it any more. He would pick it up when he left Four Corners.

Giving a quick good bye to the lady, he headed back out, idly noting the setting sun and brilliant sunset, not really seeing it. He'd already spent enough time considering where he would go, after this. If he could have travelled on his own, he would have gone abroad – to England, to France, to China. See the world, get out of the country that housed his most hated enemy and years and years of bad memories. But as a young child travelling on his own, he wouldn't have gotten far before someone noticed and started asking questions.

So he would have to stay. Maybe he could go to where his father's family used to live. They would hold no love for him, if they even remembered him – they considered him the demon spawn that had torn their favourite son away from them and ruined him. But from what little he could remember of the scant years Maude had allowed him to live there, it had been a beautiful place, full of cultured, kind people and thick, comforting southern accents.

Ezra didn't really remember his father clearly. Just a name – James – and a voice: deep, gentle, soothing; loving, comforting, correcting and guiding. Kind eyes, too, a deep green, just like his.

He'd had strong hands, his father; James used to toss him up in the air when he was still small enough to be carried, catching him carefully each time and laughing along with his delighted son. They used to play outside together in spring beside newly-blossomed flowers and sweet green grass, reading stories and playing games, laughter and joy drifting through the trees.

Then Maude had played one of _her_ games, and all the lies had come tumbling out. Then there was only shouting and anger, and tears of grief and confusion from a child who just didn't understand why mommy and daddy were fighting.

And then he was gone.

He would wonder, sometimes – most often times when it was lonely, when the solitude and isolation that came with his mother's chosen lifestyle became too painful to bear. He would wonder where his father had gone, what the man with the gentle eyes and gentle hands was doing, right then. Had he moved on? Did he have a new family now? Or had he never really cared for Ezra, only playing his own little game that, in the end, had fallen to pieces just like Maude's?

It was a thought that was painful to even consider.

Unable to control a shiver, Ezra tried not to think of the devastation that could possibly come from knowing the answer to that question. Some things were just… better left unknown.

Maybe that's why he felt so out of sorts. Being suddenly thrust into a situation where he couldn't avoid remembering things and memories that he'd tried not to dwell on for too many years was doubtless wreaking havoc on his self-control and emotional stability. Bereft of tangible caring and attention for so long, only to experience it again and have the possibility for _more _dangled in his face, was… indescribably excruciating. Especially when he knew quite well it wouldn't last.

Chris was an enigma, a curiosity he couldn't get out of his head. And there was a nagging, warming familiarity about the way he talked, the way he moved, the things he said and the way he looked at Ezra sometimes. It was odd, how after only a few, scant days he was seeing things about the men who'd rescued him that he'd never have noticed in anyone else, never mind cared.

He wasn't sure what it was that drew him to Chris Larabee. He just knew that there was something that made him feel safe, comforted… and made him want to _stay_…

One foot poised to land on the dusty earth, Ezra froze when the unfinished thought registered in his brain.

No. No, no, no, _no_. He was not going to become attached. Not again. Not like this, not _again_, he couldn't handle it, _not again_….

Overwhelmed by panic and fright, Ezra began to run, stumbling, blindly heading in whatever direction his feet took him as long as it was away, away, _away_ from the pounding thoughts that threatened to crush his fragile hold on his emotions.

He couldn't do this again. It had nearly killed him the last time, and he'd been at least semi-emotionally stable back then. He'd believed he was, anyway, and that was what really mattered. Now? Now he had nothing and no one, and if he attached himself to someone (Buck, Vin, Nathan, _Chris_), he would only be delaying the inevitable; he would, in the end, always be alone, with no one and only a lingering sense of regret, pain and longing for something more that would never come. If he _did_ attach himself? Lord knows what a hollow shell of a boy would be left behind.

Gasping for breath, tears welling unbidden in his eyes, Ezra blindly leaned against the wall of a building that was too blurred by his tears to make out. He shouldn't be getting this worked up, but he couldn't help it. It was hard enough, keeping up the persona of quiet, solemn little boy; quiet, polite little boy; quiet, silent, in the back-ground, seen-and-not-heard, don't-bother-noticing-me boy. Trying to cover _this_, these feelings that were so unpleasant and uncalled for, that he could barely keep from drowning in….

A hint of resentment seeped into his mind, and focused – unfairly – on Vin Tanner. Chris, too, but not as much. Somehow, it just seemed to _fit_, blaming it all on Vin.

* * *

It was getting dark out, and Chris was worried. Not that he'd admit it.

He'd been called out to the old Jenkin's house to check out a disturbance (which had turned out to be a wild dog hanging around the chicken coop), but that hadn't taken more than an hour, max. Then he'd ridden back, stopped by the saloon for a drink, and strolled over to the jailhouse to check on JD.

"About time you stopped by!" JD exclaimed as Chris had stepped through the doorway. He'd been trying to sound accusing, probably, but his smile gave him away. Chris returned the smile, and thumped JD comfortably on the back.

"Sorry, JD, had a few things to take care of. The prisoner been behavin' all right?"

"Yeah, he stopped moaning awhile back, once he fell asleep. 'Bout time too, he was whining somethin' fierce." JD nodded at the prisoner and asked, "What's his story anyway? I forgot to ask Vin when I saw him earlier."

"Just someone who decided it would be a good idea to attack us, and soon found out otherwise," Chris replied dryly, reminding himself that he owed their new prisoner an 'interrogation' later. "How's it been while we were gone? Quiet?"

"Yep, quiet as a tomb!" JD said dramatically, unconsciously straightening and sticking out his chin. "There weren't no one going to attack the town while I was here guarding it! How'd it go? I heard from Vin that you guys picked up a stray."

Unwilling to ruin the young sheriff's image of himself, Chris hid his smile and answered easily, "Sure did, little tyke, 'bout nine or ten. Name's Ezra."

Speaking of Ezra brought another thought to mind. "Have you seen him around? Brown hair, green eyes, wears a fancy lookin' suit? Don't know if I've seen him since I left for Jenkin's."

"Funny you should ask that," came the answer, "since Vin asked me the same thing a little while ago. Don't think he found him neither, but Vin went off to the boarding house to get some rest, and he might'a seen him on the way. Ain't seen him myself, though."

Chris gave JD an absent nod, not particularly worried. Four Corners was a small town, and there were only so many things a little guy like Ezra could get into within a two hour period. He was probably over at Mary's, maybe trying to make up with Billy, more likely trying to steal some of Mary's cookies. Chris smiled; Mary's cookies were the best, and since Ezra was probably over that way, he could use it as an excuse to stop by and maybe sneak in a few cookies for himself.

She usually baked once the sun went down and it was a bit cooler. He could take care of the rest of his business and stop by in time to bring Ezra to the hotel for supper.

Satisfied, Chris put all thoughts of Ezra out of his mind. He was old enough to look after himself for an hour or two, and besides, what kind of trouble could he get into, anyway?

That had been a few hours ago. Now, with the sun inching closer and closer into the horizon, an uneasy feeling was beginning to build in his stomach.

"Are you sure he didn't stop by, Mary?" he asked one more time. Brow furrowed, and looking a bit worried herself, Mary shook her head.

"I'll ask Billy, but I'm pretty sure he didn't stop by."

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. They were probably overreacting. There were a number of ways a young boy could amuse himself, and there were a number of locations where he was likely to have found something to make him lose track of time. But even then...

He would make one more round, ask a few of the town's people most likely to have seen him; surely he would find Ezra then.

* * *

Somehow, in his mad dash to _get away_, Ezra had ended up near a dilapidated old building. From the looks of things, it was in the process of being repaired, though not very well; a close inspection proved that the rundown building was in fact a church.

Ezra stared up at the crumbling walls, mind blankly surprised. A church. What in the name of all things Holy was a church doing in a small cow-town like this? It had been _years _since he'd even come close to a church. Granted, the last one had been more of a cathedral than a church, and had definitely been in better shape than this one, but still.

Not really paying attention and mind still uncomprehending, his feet lead him slowly inside the church.

Inside was in only slightly better shape than out, with the walls and pews still intact, but in dire need of repair and a good cleaning. Small, dank, and smelling faintly of dust and mildew, its broken stained glass windows letting in little to no light, Ezra had to wonder how many people would actually come – or would _want_ to come, for that matter – to a house of God in this sad a state.

Eyeing the sadly-in-need-of-repair doors to the small church, he thought, _God's house, _with no small amount of bitter contempt. Like God would care enough to come somewhere like this - like God would _care. _

"Ezra, fancy meeting you here," an amiable voice issued from somewhere behind him at the front of the shabby church.

Ezra gave an undignified yelp of surprise and spun around to face the smiling older man.

"My apologies, Ezra, I didn't mean to frighten you. I wasn't expecting company. What do you make of my humble dwellings? Anything in particular bring you to the house of God?"

Swallowing both his surprise and a number of less than flattering and rather inappropriate comments, Ezra gave a sad excuse for a smile and managed to stutter, "It's… very nice." The statement fell a bit flat, but Ezra hoped that Josiah wouldn't notice.

"Not much to see yet, I know, for a house of God - or any house, for that matter," Josiah said wryly, calling out and accepting the lie with good humour. "But if it'll get better soon enough, God willing."

If God were so willing, it made one wonder why the sad excuse for a church was still in such a state. It begged to be said, but Ezra bit his tongue and refrained from commenting. Instead, he skipped back to a question that had entered his mind upon Josiah's unexpected appearance.

"Are you a preacher, Josiah?" he asked softly, not entirely sure he wanted an answer. Years of bad experiences with 'God's children' had led him to be wary of any of those of the Cloth. He wasn't about to discard his initial assessment of the older man, but experience showed that you could never be too careful. There were only so many times you can be told to 'forsake' your evil ways and 'turn to the light' before you gave up and washed your hands of anything and anyone religious.

"Not a preacher, as such," Josiah replied evenly. He pulled out a dusty rag from inside the folds of his equally dingy poncho and began wiping down the pulpit. "I try to live my life as Jesus did, and try my best to lead others towards the path of Salvation. But as far as an actual certified preaching goes, I'm more on the… unofficial side."

Although not quite certain this was in any way an improvement, Ezra decided to give Josiah the benefit of the doubt; after all, the man had been decent to him even when he didn't have to be, and who was to say that _all_ men of God were unsavoury?

"Any reason in particular bring you here, Ez?" the big man repeated. The question was light, no pressure for an answer evident, which is probably why Ezra answered, and with complete honesty.

"Not really. Ah just… ah was walking, and ah happened upon the church," he answered, not really registering the hated nickname. He thought back to when he'd first laid eyes on the church, and, brow furrowing, said in a far-away voice, "I guess ah… just wanted to see, really."

Josiah waited patiently, still rubbing down the pulpit, but when Ezra fell silent and didn't continue, he asked gently, "See what, Ezra?"

Ezra opened his mouth, snapped it shut, and shrugged, in a half-casual way that wasn't very convincing at all. "Just _see_."

Letting it drop, Josiah continued rubbing the cloth in soothing circles, and began to speak in a quiet, unpretentious tone of voice. "Not everyone who goes to a church goes for worship, Ez. Some people just come because God's house can be a peaceful, quiet place to gather one's thoughts and get in touch with nature. Sometimes I come here and just sit quietly in one of pews, letting my mind and thoughts settle after a particularly trying day. You should try it sometime; it can really help settle unwanted thoughts and emotions."

Unaware that he'd touched a nerve with his young guest, Josiah continued casually, "God doesn't even have to come into the picture. Just, if you ever need to, or even just feel like it, come here, and sit. It'll do you a world of good, trust me."

Finally abandoning the rag when it became obvious that it wasn't cleaning anything and was so dirty it was beyond saving, Josiah expelled a hearty sigh and stretched, neck cracking in a satisfying fashion. "Well Ez, I gotta take care of a few things in the back, but feel free to stay as long as you'd like. It's been a while since I've had a congregation, you understand," he said with a teasing little wink.

Coming back to himself, Ezra started, and managed to give him a weak smile. "That's all right, Josiah. Ah think ah should be heading back anyway; it's going to be getting dark soon."

"All right then, Ez, it was good to see you. Enjoy your evening!"

The slow walk back in the direction of the town square gave him time to think. Now that he considered it with a mostly-level head, his earlier rush of panic seemed foolish, his determination and angry resolve to leave this place confusing. Just when he'd decided he liked Four Corners, just when he'd begun to accept that liking the odd group of men he'd come to know wasn't a bad thing, suddenly his emotions took a complete 360 degree turn.

Now, his mind strangely at peace, thoughts calm and collected, thoughts of feeling closed in seemed so…. Trivial. Maybe he'd been rash, just a little bit; maybe he should consider this a bit more carefully (and while he was at it, figure out why in God's name he'd been so angry and panicked).

Mind busy contemplating reasonings and explanations, Ezra didn't hear the heavy footsteps coming up behind him, and didn't realize anything was wrong until a hand landed on his shoulder… and by then it was too late.

"Well well well… what _have _we here?" a rough voice said, tinted with sadistic glee. Before he could react, something struck him across on the back of his head. The world faded instantly wavered, and he only had time to think, _Chris, help!_ before the world faded to black.

* * *

"Something's wrong," Chris said tightly. A nearly full tankard of beer sat in front of him, but his mind wasn't on drinking. The pesky little Southerner that had somehow wormed his way into Chris Larabee's ice-cold heart was proving to be too much of a distraction.

Buck, who was sitting across from, managed a distracted, "Is there?" while staring hungrily at Inez's comely form as she cleaned glasses behind the bar.

"I _know_ something's wrong. I can just feel it," Chris insisted. His fingers, which had been tapping insistently against the hard-wood table, stilled as he clenched them into a tight fist. "Ezra's a bright boy, he knows better than to disappear for so long without telling anyone where he's goin', and Four Corners might be a small town, but it's still new to him. He wouldn't just wander off, knowing he could get lost."

"Sure..." Buck mumbled helpfully.

"Mary hasn't seen him, JD says Vin's been looking for him but hasn't found him, and no one I've asked has seen him anywhere! The kid's pretty hard to miss, so I don't see how no one would have seen him if somethin' hasn't happened."

"Hmmmm."

"Bucklin, are ya even listening to me?"

"...What?"

Chris released a bereaved sigh of annoyance and waved a hand in dismissal. Taking a gulp of his now luke-warm drink, the dark-eyed gunman stared testily at the wall. There was something wrong. He just _knew_ it. After another moment, he nodded decisively and stood, dropping his hat on his head.

"I'm going to go look for him again, Buck. Let me know if anyone sees him, all right? And tell Vin to get his ass out of bed and join me," Chris added as an after thought, bumping Buck in the shoulder to make sure he was really listening.

"Uh, yeah, sure, got it."

He strode out, turning his uneasiness into a determination to get the little rascal and make him realize that getting Chris Larabee worried was never a good idea.

* * *

_A/N: Annnnd we almost have another cliffhanger. Sort of. Sorry, I do love m'cliffhangers. Keep an eye out for more, and kindly DO review!_


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